THE  FOOTHILLS 

OF  PARNASSUS 

JOHN  KENDRICK  BANGS 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


THE  FOOTHILLS  OF  PARNASSUS 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK    •    BOSTON  •    CHICAGO  •    DALLAS 
ATLANTA  •   SAN  FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  LIMITED 

LONDON  •    BOMBAY  •    CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  LTD. 

TORONTO 


-r--7-;;J--   THE  flf 

FOOTHILLS  OF  PARNASSUS 


BY 

JOHN   KENDRICK  BANGS 


gorfc 

THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 
1914 

All  rights  reserved, 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
PAVIS 


COPYRIGHT,  1914, 
BY  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 

Set  up  and  electrotyped.    Published  February,  1914. 


Ncrbjooti 

J.  8.  Gushing  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.8.A. 


tCo 

MARY  GRAY  BANGS 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  FOOTHILLS  OF  PARNASSUS        .....  1 
IN  LYRIC  VEIN: 

FOR  THE  DULL  AND  DREARY  DAY 5 

As  TO  HONEY 7 

ON  BEING  GOOD 8 

COLOR-BLIND     .........  9 

To  AN  AMERICAN  BEAUTY 11 

ON  A  BALMY  DAY  IN  FEBRUARY     .        .        .         .        .32 

THE  HAZARD 13 

As  TO  LOVE      .........  14 

A  CHANGE  OF  HEART 16 

A  PROTEST 17 

MY  SHARE 19 

AN  INFALLIBLE  RECEIPT 20 

To  A  PASSING  BREEZE 21 

MY  DOG 22 

THE  VERDICT .24 

THE  INVITATION 25 

A  HINT  TO  JULIA     ........  26 

THE  FISHER-MAIDEN         .......  27 

A  DREAM 29 

MY  STORES  OF  WEALTH  .......  31 

SMOKE-RINGS     .........  33 

vii 


Contents 

PA0K 

DAPHNE'S  FOOT        ....        .        .        .        .      34 

CUPID:  BANKRUPT  .        *•        »        .        .        .        .        .36 

THE  CONSOLERS        .        .        .        .        .        .        .        -37 

LOVE,  LAUGHTER,  AND  SONG 39 

JUNE         .        .        .        ..;...' 41 

THE  LITTLE  ELFMAN       .        .        .        .        .        .        .43 

THE  ORIGIN  OP  THE  Kiss        .        .        .        .        .        .44 

LOVE'S  DOMAIN 45 

PHYLLIS:  DISCIPLINARIAN 46 

THE  ROAD  TO  ARCADT 48 

THE  SONGS  OF  SPRING 50 

IN  LIGHTER  STRAIN: 

IN  TROUTING  TIME 55 

THE  NEW  SPAN 57 

THE  KATYDIDS .59 

ARCHERY .60 

YE  RIME  OF  YE  KNIGHTLIE  COWARD     ....  62 

MAUD  MULLER 64 

THE  WISDOM  OF  THE  SPHINX 65 

AT  THE  OPERA 66 

A  LEAP-YEAR  DILEMMA 67 

PEGASUS  :  His  SINECURE 68 

THE  END  OF  THE  QUARREL 70 

SIGHT  SEEING  .........  72 

THE  PLAINT  OF  UNCLE  EBENEZER 74 

INCORPORATED  .        .        . 76 

THE  WISDOM  OF  SILAS    . 78 

To  FORTUNE:  A  PRAYER         .        .  -     .        .        .         .  80 

THE  UP-TO-DATE  FARMER        .        .  •"     .         .        .        .  81 

DIPLOMACY       .        .        . 85 

THE  WORLD,  DR.     ....        .        ...       .        .         .  89 

viii 


Contents 

PAGE 

THE  JUNKMAN.        .        .        .    -    .        .        .        .        .91 

FISHIN'     .        ./.  .  .     -.  .     .  .-;••    .        .        ...  93 

ON  A  STORMY  MAT-DAT 95 

A-E-I-O-U 96 

A  CONFESSION 98 

A  LEGEND  OF  THE  STRAND 99 

As  TO  LINEAGE 101 

THE  PRANKSOME  MUSES  .......  102 

FATE 103 

THE  SPECIALISTS 104 

PHTLLIS  AT  THE  CUSTOM  HOUSE     .....  106 

THE  CURRICULUM  OF  LOVE 108 

THE  DEEPER  NOTE: 

THE  DEEPER  NOTE 113 

THE  ROSE 114 

IN  ABSENTIA 115 

THE  WAITING  INSTRUMENT 116 

MIRACLES 117 

THE  DREAMER 118 

A  LOVE  SONG 119 

To  TIME 120 

BETTER  THAN  GOLD 121 

As  TO  YESTERDAT 122 

A  VISION  OF  Loss 123 

As  TO  OTHER  WORLDS 125 

MT  ALLIES 126 

INSPIRATION 128 

ON  LINCOLN'S  BIRTHDAT          .        .        . »      .        .        .  129 

IN  JULT 130 

THE  TASK 131 

THE  FOUNT  OF  SONG 132 

ix 


Contents 


PAGE 

THE  POET .        .133 

IN  THE  MONTH  OP  FEBRUEER          ...        .        .     134 

WHEN  SPRING  DATS  COME      .        ....        .136 

THE  LIGHTED  WAY          •        .        .        .        .        .        .     137 

THE  THIEF        .        .       .. 138 

"THE  HTPOCRITIC  DAYS"       .        .        ;        .        .        .     139 
SIR  KINDLY-THOUGHT       .        .        .        .        .        .        .     140 

THE  POET'S  GRAVE. 141 

A  FIRESIDE  FANCY  .        . 142 

THE  JOY  OP  LIVING 143 

TRANSPLANTED 144 

THE  SOUTHRON  MESSENGER 145 

MARCH 146 

THE  ALTERNATIVE 147 

A  WOODLAND  EASTER      .......     148 

NATURE'S  COMFORTERS 149 

THE  CATCH       .         .         . 150 

THE  SUNNY  SIDE 151 

THE  HERITAGE         .        . 152 

THE  SONG  OF  THE  ROSE 154 

THE  WEALTH  OP  THE  ROAD 155 

HUMOR      .        .        .        .        ...         .        .        .157 

THE  LIGHT  OF  LIGHTS     .......     158 

As  TO  FEAR     .        .        .        .        .V*        •        •        -160 

THE  EVER  YOUNG    .        .    . . 162 

PLODDIN'  ALONG      .....        .        .        .     164 

THE  GREENER  BAY.        .        .        *      \        .        .         .165 
THE  JOYS  OF  RHYME       .         .         .         .         .         .         •     166 

THE  SEEING  EYE     .         .         .  '     .  .         .         .168 

THE  GATEWAY          ....        ....         .         .169 

THE  CROWN  OP  WASHINGTON  /  .     .         .        .         •         •     170 

THE  BLESSED  BLIND        .        .        •        «        •        •        .171 

X 


Contents 


PAGE 

To  MARK  TWAIN     .....        .        .        .  172 

THE  AFFINITIES ' .         .        .  173 

To  THE  MUSE  IN  AUTUMN 174 

Cui  BONO? .175 

SHAKESPEARE'S  BIRTHDAY 176 

As  TO  THE  LAW       ........  177 

'TwiXT  FACT  AND  FANCY 178 

Music 179 

THANKSGIVING  DAY 180 

SERVICE 182 

JOY  SHARING 183 

REPAYMENT       .........  184 

MY  CREED 185 

THE  SUMMONS 186 

GETTYSBURG  FIFTY  YEARS  AFTER 187 

PROFIT  AND  Loss     ........  190 

ON  A  RAINY  DAY  IN  A  LIBRARY 193 

S.O.S.  196 


XI 


FOR  permission  to  reprint  some  of  the  poems  contained 
in  this  volume  the  author  is  indebted  to  the  courtesy 
of  the  editors  and  publishers  of  Munsey's  Magazine, 
Harper's  Magazine,  The  Century  Magazine,  Scribner's 
Magazine,  Harper's  Weekly,  St.  Nicholas,  and  Life. 


THE  FOOTHILLS  OF  PARNASSUS 

I  MAY  not  hope  to  scale  the  loftier  heights, 

Full  well  I  know  ! 
Yet  are  there  foothills  with  their  rare  delights, 

And  slopes  below 
Whereon  a  modest  singer  slight  of  skill, 

And  void  of  art, 
May  roam,  and  sing  such  measures  as  he  will 

From  out  his  heart. 

About  him  run  the  clearly  blazoned  ways 

That  still  resound 
With  echoes  of  the  songs  that  won  the  bays 

Of  Poets  crowned, 
And  now  and  then  if  he  but  linger  there 

His  soul  may  hear 
Some  note  of  beauty  from  those  Singers  rare 

Of  Yesteryear  1 


IN  LYRIC   VEIN 


FOR  THE  DULL  AND  DREARY  DAY 

WHEN  the  frost  is  on  the  heather 
And  the  skies  are  dark  and  grim, 
And  the  bleak  and  wintry  weather 
Makes  the  light  of  Heaven  dim, 
None  the  less  my  soul  rejoices, 
For  I  have  a  little  way 
Of  reserving  bits  of  sunshine 
For  the  dull  and  dreary  day  — 
Little  bits  of  sunny  hours, 
Little  rifts  of  golden  light ; 
Little  hints  of  summer  flowers 
Will  illumine  any  night. 
Tiny  bits  of  playful  fun-beams 
Will  light  up  your  weary  way, 
If  you'll  only  save  your  sun-beams 
For  the  dull  and  dreary  day ! 

When  the  cares  of  life  befall  me, 
And  the  clouds  above  hang  low, 
There  is  nothing  to  appall  me 
As  along  my  way  I  go. 
Every  trouble,  every  sorrow, 
Like  the  sea-mists  fades  away 
When  youVe  saved  your  bits  of  sunshine 
For  the  dull  and  dreary  day  — 
5 


For  the  Dull  and  Dreary  Day 

Little  glints  of  gleaming  treasure, 
Little  hints  of  mellow  sheen ; 
Matters  not  how  small  the  measure  — 
Hold  the  spirit  fresh  and  green. 
Little  rays  like  elfm-spun-beams 
Full  of  frolic  and  of  play, 
Come  to  him  who  saves  his  sun-beams 
For  the  dull  and  dreary  day ! 


AS  TO  HONEY 

FOR  honey  some  prefer  the  bee, 
But  that  is  not  the  kind  for  me ; 
Though  I  admit  the  bee  is  fine 
When  working  in  the  honey  line, 
And  none  denies  the  product's  sweet 
With  tea,  and  cakes,  and  bread  to  eat. 

The  drop  of  syrup  from  the  rose, 
The  sweets  the  heliotropes  disclose, 
The  luscious  drafts  from  hollyhocks, 
From  lilac  and  the  golden  phlox, 
From  honeysuckle,  violet  — 
Ambrosial  all  —  and  yet  —  and  yet  — 

When  radiant  Chloe  casts  her  eye 
On  me  with  glances  soft  and  shy, 
And  then,  when  no  one's  near  to  see, 
Turns  quickly  and  —  well,  kisses  me  — 
No  floral  sweet  the  Queen  Bee  sips 
Compares  with  that  of  Chloe's  lips. 


ON  BEING  GOOD 

IT  is  not  easy  to  be  good 
At  all  times  as  one  really  should. 
Temptations  lie  on  every  hand 
That  only  saints  can  well  withstand. 
E'en  though  to  virtue  one's  inclined 
Old  Satan  will  not  stay  behind. 

One  thing,  however,  is  quite  sure  — 
In  one  Commandment  I'm  secure 
Since  Daphne  came  to  live  next  door 
I  find  it  difficult  no  more  — 
Stop  laughing,  Cupid  !    Naughty  Elf 
To  love  my  neighbor  as  myself ! 


8 


COLOR-BLIND 

I'M  color-blind  as  I  can  be. 

I  know  not  red  from  green. 
I  could  not  tell  an  amber  sea 

From  one  that's  plain  marine. 
I  could  not  tell  you  if  you  asked  the  color  of  my  ink, 
But  well  I  know,  though  blind  I  be,  that  Daphne's 
cheek  is  pink ! 


When  sunset  paints  the  evening  skies 

In  wondrous  symphonies, 
And  all  the  prism  seems  to  rise 

From  out  the  misty  seas, 

I  know  not  one  from  t'other,  but  I  need  not  e'er  be  told 
Despite  this  awful  blindness  that  my  Daphne's  hair  is 
gold  I 


When  autumn  comes  upon  the  scene 

And  with  her  frosty  brush 
Turns  all  the  tender  summer  green 

On  hedge,  and  tree,  and  bush, 
To  gorgeous,   flashing  hues    that  seem  by  Titian's 

genius  spread, 

I  know  it  not,  but  I  can  see  that  Daphne's  lips  are  red  ! 

9 


Color-Blind 

And  when  the  broad  and  kindly  dome 

Of  heaven  rears  above, 
And  speaks  of  that  supernal  home 

Where  dwells  eternal  love, 

They  tell  me  it  is  azure,  and  I  know  they  tell  me  true, 
For  love  dwells  deep  in  Daphne's  eyes,  and  they  are 
azure  too ! 


10 


TO  AN  AMERICAN  BEAUTY 

MY  love's  a  rose, 

A  perfect  flower. 
Her  beauty  grows 

With  every  hour. 

And  when  she  smiles, 

A  fragrance  rare 
My  heart  beguiles 

With  visions  fair. 

And  when  she  pouts 

At  me  forlorn, 
I  have  no  doubts 

About  the  thorn ! 


11 


ON  A  BALMY  DAY  IN  FEBRUARY 

O  SLY,  light-fingered  Februaire, 

You'll  be  in  trouble  soon  ! 
I've  watched  you  with  a  deal  of  care, 
And  seen  you  lure,  purloin,  and  snare, 
A  day  from  May,  and  here  and  there 

A  bit  of  early  June  ! 


12 


THE  HAZARD 

HE  dared  not  ask  a  kiss 

For  fear  that  she'd  not  brook  it, 
But,  eager  still  for  bliss, 

He  boldly  went  and  took  it. 

And  now  he's  unaware 
If  she  did  like  or  spurn  it, 

For  she,  right  then  and  there, 
Compelled  him  to  return  it  I 


13 


AS  TO  LOVE 

'Tis  said  that  Love  when  all  is  done 
Is  but  "Two  Hearts  That  Beat  As  One," 
Which  I  deny,  for  I  have  found 
When  Love  to  visit  me  comes  round 
The  moment  he  comes  through  the  door 
He  makes  my  heart  beat  like  ten  score, 
And  even  more ! 

If  I  were  teaching  Love  at  school, 
And  to  define  it  I  were  tasked, 

I'd  say 
That  'tis  an  element,  by  no  means  cool, 

That  comes  our  way, 

Both  night  and  day, 

Unsought,  unasked, 

And  as  a  rule 

Makes  Man  a  Hero  or  a  Fool, 
And  best  of  all  it  is  so  rich 

He  cares  not  which  I 

How  shall  I  know  him  when  we  meet  ? 
Good  lack,  the  answer  is  complete  — 

Sunshine  or  storm 

The  symptoms  are,  Heart  overwarm, 
A  shivering  spine,  and  truly  Arctic  feet ! 
14 


As  to  Love 

How  tell  one's  Love  ?    Ah,  it  were  well 
If  so  you  rest  beneath  its  spell 

To  let  its  gold 

Remain  untold, 

For  Love's  a  special  kind  of  pelf 
That  soon  or  late  must  tell  itself. 
Yet  if  it  must  be  told,  why  then 
Intrust  it  not  to  tongue  or  pen  — 
The  better  plan,  0  Lover  faint  but  true, 
Is  just  to  let  your  two  eyes  speak  for  you, 


15 


A  CHANGE  OF  HEART 

BY  day  a  bird  I'd  be, 
And  soar  the  heavens  high  with  songs  of  glee, 

But  when  the  night  doth  fall, 
And  dreamy  thoughts  begin  to  call, 

And  birds  that  sing 

Sleep  with  their  heads  beneath  their  wing, 
Or  in  some  frigid  barn  do  woo  repose 
With  only  wisps  of  straw  to  warm  their  toes, 

Or  sink  to  rest 

In  some  unroofed,  uncomfortable  nest, 
I  change  my  mind,  and  am  content  to  be 
Me! 


16 


A  PROTEST 

Hi,  Nature  I    Here's  a  word  or  two, 
Flirtatious  Dame,  I'd  have  with  you 
Anent  the  way  you  twist  and  tack 
About  the  patient  Almanac, 
And  disarrange  the  Zodiac. 


On  Monday  it  was  winter  drear ; 
On  Tuesday  all  the  atmosphere 
Betokened  spring,  and  Wednesday  morn, 
In  minor  key,  and  quite  forlorn, 
We  got  a  note  from  autumn's  horn. 


On  Thursday  there  was  summer  glow 
In  sundry  breezes  that  did  blow 
Across  the  fields,  yet  Friday  noon 
Until  the  rising  of  the  moon 
Once  more  old  winter  sang  his  tune. 


On  Saturday  'twas  spring  again, 
And  I  took  out  my  fountain-pen 
To  write  about  the  vernal  pink, 
But  ere  I  had  a  chance  to  think 
Back  winter  came  and  froze  my  ink 
c  17 


A  Protest 

Now  truly,  Madame,  I  feel  hurt 

To  note  how  giddily  you  flirt  I 

Pray  have  you  heard  —  or  haven't  you  ? 

That  ancient  proverb  tried  and  true 

About  the  old  love  and  the  new  ? 


18 


MY  SHARE 

THE  Poet  sings  her  Buckled  Shoe  — 
I  much  prefer  her  eyes  of  blue  ! 

The  Poet  sings  the  Cup  she  sips  — 
I  much  prefer  her  smiling  lips  ! 

The  Poet  sings  her  Girdle  chaste  — 
I  much  prefer  her  lissome  waist ! 

The  Poet  sings  her  Locks  aglow  — 
I  much  prefer  the  face  below  ! 

The  Poet  glorifies  her  Glove  — 
I  much  prefer  the  hand  of  Love  ! 

The  Poet  hymns  her  waving  Fan  - 
The  cheek  behind  it  suits  my  plan  ! 

The  Poet  sings  her  frills  of  Lace — 
I  much  prefer  their  resting  place  ! 

So,  Poet,  take  the  Fan,  the  Shoe, 
The  Laces,  and  the  Girdle  too. 

Take  thou  the  Gloves,  the  sweetened  Cup  — 
I  give  them  freely  wholly  up. 

I'll  never  seek  such  flimsy  pelf 
When  I  can  have  the  Maid  herself  ! 
19 


AN  INFALLIBLE  RECEIPT 

FVE  had  to-day  a  pleasant  whim 
Of  how  to  keep  the  heart  in  trim, 
And  running  o'er  with  purest  joy : 
One  day  each  week,  become  a  boy  ! 
Drop  toil,  and  trouble,  care,  and  woe, 
And  back  to  boyhood  once  more  go  — 
Unless,  perhaps,  you  chance  to  be 
A  woman  —  then  the  recipe 
Is  much  the  same :  give  o'er  the  whirl 
Of  present  things,  and  be  a  girl ! 


20 


TO  A  PASSING  BREEZE 

STAY,  little  Breeze,  I  prithee  stay  ! 
Come  snuggle  down,  no  longer  stray. 
There's  sultry  days  in  store  for  me, 
And  I  would  make  a  trade  with  thee. 
Stay  here  and  serve  me  in  my  need 
And  on  sweet  rose-leaves  you  may  feed, 
I'll  keep  a  silvery  stream  at  hand 
To  sing  to  you  at  your  command. 
I'll  let  you  hum  around  the  eaves, 
Or  flirt  among  the  maple-leaves, 
And  if  you'd  like  to  roam  at  will 
Among  the  pine  trees  on  the  hill 
You've  but  to  say  so  —  and  the  bees 
Will  bring  you  honey  when  you  please, 
If  through  the  summer  you  will  rest 
Right  here  with  me,  an  honored  guest, 
With  naught  to  do  but  blow  about 
Me  when  the  summer  sun  is  out. 


21 


MY  DOG 

I  HAVE  no  dog,  but  it  must  be 

Somewhere  there's  one  belongs  to  me  — 

A  little  chap  with  wagging  tail, 

And  dark  brown  eyes  that  never  quail, 

But  look  you  through,  and  through,  and  through, 

With  love  unspeakable,  but  true. 

Somewhere  it  must  be,  I  opine, 
There  is  a  little  dog  of  mine 
With  cold  black  nose  that  sniffs  around 
In  search  of  what  things  may  be  found 
In  pocket,  or  some  nook  hard  by 
Where  I  have  hid  them  from  his  eye. 

Somewhere  my  doggie  pulls  and  tugs 
The  fringes  of  rebellious  rugs, 
Or  with  the  mischief  of  the  pup 
Chews  all  my  shoes  and  slippers  up, 
And  when  he's  done  it  to  the  core 
With  eyes  all  eager  pleads  for  more. 

Somewhere  upon  his  hinder  legs 
My  little  doggie  sits  and  begs, 
And  in  a  wistful  minor  tone 
Pleads  for  the  pleasures  of  the  bone  — 
I  pray  it  be  his  owner's  whim 
To  yield,  and  grant  the  same  to  him. 
22 


My  Dog 

Somewhere  a  little  dog  doth  wait, 
It  may  be  by  some  garden-gate. 
With  eyes  alert  and  tail  attent  — 
You  know  the  kind  of  tail  that's  meant 
With  stores  of  yelps  of  glad  delight 
To  bid  me  welcome  home  at  night. 

Somewhere  a  little  dog  is  seen, 
His  nose  two  shaggy  paws  between, 
Flat  on  his  stomach,  one  eye  shut 
Held  fast  in  dreamy  slumber,  but 
The  other  open,  ready  for 
His  master  coming  through  the  door. 


23 


THE  VERDICT 

PUCK,  a-sitting  on  a  hill, 

Spied  two  lovers  by  the  rill, 
Doing  things  that  lovers  do 
When  their  love  is  fond  and  true ; 

Just  a  pressure  of  the  hand, 

Flash  of  eyes  —  you  understand. 
Glancing  toward  the  couple,  he 
Cried,  "What  Fools  these  Mortals  be !" 

Later  on  he  spied  a  pair  — 
Strephon  strong,  and  Phyllis  fair ; 

Deep  affection  in  each  heart, 

Yet  their  ways  ran  far  apart. 
He'd  no  courage  for  the  test. 
She  deemed  coldness  for  the  best. 

Puck  observed,  impatiently : 

"O  what  Fools  these  Mortals  be  I" 

I  don't  know  what  can  be  done 
For  to  please  this  jeering  one. 

If  we  do  or  if  we  don't ; 

If  we  will  or  if  we  won't ; 
Spite  of  how  we  play  the  game 
Still  the  verdict  is  the  same. 

Hard  to  such  a  Fate  to  bow  — 

Guess  we're  all  Fools  anyhow  ! 
24 


THE  INVITATION 

COME,  Phyllis,  to  the  countryside 
As  Strephon  and  his  Chloe  hied 

Let  you  and  I 

Now  quickly  hie ; 
And  there,  amid  the  clover  gay, 
And  the  wild-flowers  on  the  way, 
Beneath  the  green  of  arching  trees, 
To  the  rare  music  of  the  breeze, 
Mixed  with  the  songs  of  happy  birds, 
And  the  far  crooning  of  the  herds, 
The  sunbeams  in  their  golden  rout 
All  playing  joyously  about, 

With  all  the  scene 
A-glint  with  sparkle  and  with  sheen, 
I'll  show  you  how  the  true  Bee  sips 
His  honey  from  the  Rose's  lips, 

And  with  their  sweets 

His  bliss  completes. 
You  be  the  Rose,  and  I,  you  see,  — 
Well,  Phyllis  dear,  I'll  be  the  Bee  I 


25 


A  HINT  TO  JULIA 

"  When  as  in  silks  my  Julia  goes, 
Then,  then  methinks  how  sweetly  flows 
The  liquefaction  of  her  clothes." 

—  HEKRICK. 

WHEN  as  in  silks  MY  Julia  goes, 
Adorned  with  costly  furbelows, 
The  which  add  to  her  stately  air 
And  make  her  fairest  of  the  fair, 
My  heart  beats  high,  and  I  confess 
To  deep  and  passionate  distress. 
But  all  the  same  I  turn  aside  — 
I  can't  afford  so  rich  a  bride  ! 


For  pressing  economic  laws 
Conspire  to  give  my  passion  pause. 
The  cost  of  living  is  so  great 
I  can't  afford  the  wedded  state, 
When  plus  the  rent,  the  bread,  the  milk, 
I'd  have  to  pay  for  all  that  silk  — 
But  I'd  propose  if  Julia'd  go 
For  just  a  while  in  calico  ! 

"The  liquefaction"  's  fair  to  see, 
But  "liquidation"  bothers  me  ! 
26 


THE  FISHER-MAIDEN 

I  SAW  a  maid  down  by  the  sea, 
And  she  was  fishing  merrily. 
Her  eye  was  blue,  her  cheek  was  fair, 
The  glint  of  sun  lay  in  her  hair ; 
She  cast  her  hook  with  jocund  air, 

And  laughed  with  glee 
At  all  the  fish  that  were  to  be. 

And  I  laughed  too, 

For  well  I  knew 

No  fish  were  in  that  special  cove 
Wherein  she  sought  her  treasure-trove ; 
For  maids  had  fished  that  spot  before, 

For  years  galore, 
And  ne'er  a  fin  had  e'er  emerged 
From  where  those  waters  ebbed  and  surged. 

I  laughed  at  the  futility 
Of  fishing  thusly  in  that  sea, 

And  as  my  roar 

Broke  on  the  shore 

She  turned  and  cast  at  me  a  glance  — 
'Twas  now  direct,  and  now  askance  — 

And  then  and  there 

That  maid  so  fair 
That  fished  with  such  a  jocund  air, 
27 


The  Fisher-Maiden 

Made  such  a  catch 
As  you  would  find  it  hard  to  match ; 

For  don't  you  see 
The  fish  she  caught  was  simple  ME  ! 

MORAL: 

Don't  laugh  at  maids  down  by  the  sea 
If  they  be  fishing  fishlessly, 
Lest  it  shall  chance  by  some  odd  crook 
Of  Fate  yourself  shall  get  the  hook, 

And  more  or  less 

Land  in  a  mess, 

As  I  did  there 

The  while  she  fished  with  jocund  air 
And  let  the  warm  sun  kiss  her  hair ! 


28 


A  DREAM 

DREAMED  last  night  that  Washington, 
Hamilton  and  Jefferson, 

Came  to  visit  me. 
Lincoln  came  along  likewise  — 

0  those  grave  and  kindly  eyes  !  — 

With  the  other  three. 

1  was  much  disturbed  at  first 
In  such  company  immersed. 

Knew  not  what  to  say. 
Seemed  as  though  the  gods  had  come 
On  a  visit  to  my  home. 

Wondered  if  they'd  stay. 

Felt  as  if  four  statues  great 
Full  of  pomp  and  regal  state 

Sat  about  the  room. 
Got  as  nervous  as  a  cat 
Wondering  what  they  were  at  — 

Soul  was  full  of  gloom. 

But  as  moments  passed  along 
Felt  my  spirits  growing  strong. 

Mr.  Lincoln  laughed. 
Hamilton  joked  Washington, 
Washington  joked  Jefferson ; 

Each  the  other  chaffed. 
29 


A  Dream 

Lincoln  slapped  me  on  the  back. 
Hamilton  gave  me  a  whack. 

Washington  he  grinned. 
Jefferson  got  off  a  joke ; 
Gave  my  ribs  a  gentle  poke 

As  we  sat  and  chinned. 

Finally,  when  it  was  o'er, 

And  they  vanished  from  my  door, 

He  of  Valley  Forge, 
As  he  put  his  chapeau  on 
Winked,  and  whispered,  "By-by,  John  I" 

I  said,  "  Good-bye,  George  1" 

Sort  of  felt  that  that  queer  dream 
Gave  my  soul  a  pleasant  gleam 

Through  the  mists  that  blind, 
Really  great  men  after  all 
Live  not  on  a  pedestal 

Far  above  their  kind ; 

Live  not  from  their  kin  aloof 
Using  heaven  for  a  roof, 

Full  of  pomp  and  fuss, 
But  are  full  as  they  can  be 
Of  a  real  Humanity 

Like  the  rest  —  of  us  I 


30 


MY  STORES  OF  WEALTH 

I  RECKONED  up  my  wealth  last  night, 

And  found,  to  my  surprise, 
That  I'm  a  millionaire  all  right, 

Though  maybe  in  disguise. 
To  look  at  me,  I  must  confess, 
No  person  sane  would  ever  guess 
I  ranked  among  the  wights  that  hold 

A  wondrous  store  of  gold. 

The  list  of  my  securities  ? 

Well,  first  of  all  put  down 
A  taste  for  the  simplicities  — 

Possession  rare  in  town. 
I  get  along  on  simple  things, 
And  care  naught  for  the  pomp  of  Kings, 
And  in  the  quietest  of  ways 

Prefer  to  pass  my  days. 

Next  I've  abundant  appetite ; 

Digestion  strong  and  good, 
And  three  times  daily  take  delight 

In  sitting  at  my  food  — 
The  which  a  billionaire  I  know 
Would  pay  a  million  down  or  so 
If  he  could  have  it  for  himself 

Instead  of  all  his  pelf. 
31 


My  Stores  of  Wealth 

And  finally  one  item  small 

With  sparkling  eyes  of  brown 
Who  shares  with  me  what  may  befall 

If  Fortune  smile  or  frown ; 
Who  bids  me  never  to  repine 
Whatever  pain  or  care  be  mine, 
And  daily  makes  me  Master  of 
A  blessed  world  of  Love  ! 


32 


SMOKE-RINGS 

WHEN  Phyllis  took  up  cigarettes 
I  must  confess  to  some  regrets 
To  see  the  smoke-clouds  float  above 
Those  lips  so  fit  for  deeds  of  love ; 
And  for  awhile,  let  me  admit, 
I  fussed  and  fumed  about  a  bit, 
And  prayed  by  all  the  smiling  stars 
She'd  never  take  up  strong  cigars. 

But  as  I  watched  the  airy  grace 

With  which  she  smoked,  and  how  her  face 

Lit  up  with  joy  when  fairy  rings 

Went  flying  off  on  misty  wings ; 

And  noted  too  how  daintily 

She  rolled  a  cigarette  for  me, 

I  ceased  to  fuss,  and  fume,  and  choke, 

And  let  my  wrath  go  up  in  smoke. 

And  now  together  as  we  stray 
Along  life's  pleasant  primrose  way 
We  send  forth  little  rings  that  rise 
In  linked  chains  up  to  the  skies  — 
One  ring  from  her,  one  ring  from  me, 
Thus  are  they  linked  alternately  — 
A  token  proving  with  what  art 
We've  each  acquired  the  "  Smoker's  Heart.3 
D  33 


DAPHNE'S  FOOT 

FAIK  Daphne's  foot's  a  dainty  thing, 
Like  those  the  poets  used  to  sing. 
So  small  is  it  you'd  hardly  dream 
It  had  sufficient  breadth  of  beam 
To  bear  the  weight,  however  slight, 
'Twas  made  to  carry,  day  and  night. 

When  out  upon  the  ball-room  floor 

You  see  it  gayly  tripping  o'er 

The  polished  surface  in  the  dance, 

You  wonder  greatly  if  perchance 

The  elfin  fairies  of  the  moon 

Have  not  prepared  her  dancing  shoon. 

When  o'er  the  cold  bleak  pave  it  goes 
'Mid  hustling  throngs,  and  drifting  snows, 
You  stand  aghast  that  such  a  rare 
And  fragile  thing  should  venture  there, 
And  as  it  nears  the  crossing's  edge 
You  tremble  at  such  sacrilege  ! 

But  O  that  foot !    What  things  I've  said  ! 
What  thoughts  unspeakable  and  dread  — 
When  to  the  Opera  I'm  inclined, 
And  Daphne  sitting  just  behind 
Inserts  her  toe  'neath  where  I  sit 
And  all  unthinking  wiggles  it  I 
34 


CUPID:  BANKRUPT 

Tis  sad,  sad  news  I  heard  to-day  — 

Dan  Cupid's  fled  the  town ; 
His  bank  has  closed,  and  in  the  fray 

Of  failure  has  gone  down. 

For  years  poor  Danny's  kept  the  place, 

And  honored  every  bill 
From  men  of  every  creed  and  race 

Presented  at  his  till. 

But  now  the  bank  has  closed  its  doors  - 

A  scene  of  misery ; 
And  Cupid's  skipped  to  other  shores 

In  hopeless  bankruptcy. 

He  had  a  vast  reserve  of  love 

Hid  safely  in  his  vault ; 
There  never  was  suggestion  of 

A  possible  default. 

He  owned  a  mine  of  richest  ore  — 
True  eighteen  carat  stuff  — 

And  none  who  ever  glimpsed  the  store 
Could  doubt  he  had  enough. 
35 


Cupid:  Bankrupt 

But  I,  alas,  yes,  it  was  I 

Who  wrecked  our  banker  fair ; 
It  is  a  fact  I  can't  deny  — 

I  wrought  that  ruin  there. 


For  when  I  first  glimpsed  Polly's  eyes, 
And  fell  beneath  their  sway, 

I  drew  a  draft  of  such  a  size 
He  simply  couldn't  pay  ! 


36 


THE  CONSOLERS 

WHEN  Mistress  Mab  averts  her  eyes 

And  turns  her  face  away  from  me, 
And  views  with  an  assumed  surprise 

My  heart's  impetuosity, 
I  do  not  sit  apart  and  mope, 

And  yield  to  fruitless  lamentation 
Like  one  bereft  of  every  hope, 

For  Phyllis  is  my  consolation. 

When  Phyllis  looks  with  cold  disdain 

Upon  my  wooing,  and  avers 
All  hope  to  win  her  hand  is  vain 

Because  some  other  she  prefers, 
You'll  find  me  not  downcast  with  woe, 

A  sufferer  from  love's  prostration ; 
I  merely  take  my  hat  and  go 

To  Daphne  for  my  consolation. 

And  then  when  Daphne  tells  me  nay  — 

She  likes  me  well,  but  that  is  all, 
And  hopes  that  in  a  friendly  way 

I'll  still  keep  up  my  weekly  call, 
Think  you  I  sit  around  and  grieve 

The  finish  of  that  sweet  flirtation  ? 
Not  I !    I  run  around  to  Eve 

To  find  my  meed  of  consolation. 
37 


The  Consolers 

When  Eve  denies  she  ever  meant 

To  give  me  reason  to  suppose 
She  ever  loved  to  such  extent 

She'd  share  my  daily  joys  and  woes, 
No  tears  ooze  from  these  eyes  of  mine, 

Nor  do  I  yield  to  dissipation, 
I  seek  out  Susan's  eyes  divine 

And  in  them  find  my  consolation. 

So  runs  the  tale.    When  dainty  Sue 

Frowns  on  my  suit  no  dull  regret 
Fills  up  my  days,  for  there  are  Prue, 

And  Maude,  and  Polly,  and  Babette, 
And  Jane,  and  Sarah,  Betsy  and 

A  never-ending  congregation. 
God  placed  fair  maids  on  every  hand 

To  fill  the  world  with  consolation. 


38 


LOVE,  LAUGHTER,  AND  SONG 

I'M  going  to  laugh,  I'm  going  to  laugh, 
I'm  going  to  laugh, 

Ha-ha ! 

E'en  though  the  harvest  be  but  chaff, 
I'm  going  to  laugh, 

Ha-ha ! 

For  laughter  fills  the  heart  with  joy, 
And  kills  the  troubles  that  annoy, 
And  brings  to  age  hopes  of  the  boy  — 

Ha-ha ! 

I'm  going  to  sing,  I'm  going  to  sing, 
I'm  going  to  sing, 

Tra-la ! 

In  face  of  sneer,  and  jeer,  and  fling, 
I'm  going  to  sing, 

Tra-la ! 

For  numbers  rout  the  hosts  of  wrong, 
And  fill  the  spirit  with  a  throng 
Of  joyous  thoughts  the  whole  day  long  - 
Tra-la ! 

I'm  going  to  love,  I'm  going  to  love, 
I'm  going  to  love 
Alway, 
39 


Love,  Laughter,  and  Song 

And  thus  I'll  win  life's  treasure-trove  — 
I'm  going  to  love 

For  aye ! 

For  love  spreads  sunshine  through  the  air, 
And  shields  the  soul  from  pain  and  care, 
And  spreads  joy's  largesse  everywhere 

We  stray. 

Love,  song,  and  mirth  —  these  are  the  three 
Great  blessings  of  this  earth  for  me, 
And  that  is  why  the  whole  day  long 
I  love,  and  laugh,  and  sing  my  song  ! 


40 


JUNE 

JUNE'S    a-cominj !    June's    a-comin' !     Comin'    right 

along ! 

I  can  hear  the  bees  a-hummin'  chock-a-block  with  song  ! 
I  can  hear  the  birds  a-floppinj, 
And  the  rosy  buds  a-poppin', 
While  the  blossoms  white  are  droppin' 
In  a  snowy  throng  ! 

I  can  hear  the  bells  a-ringin'  in  the  steeples  high 
Tellin'  how  young  Love's  a-wingin',  laughter  in  his  eye, 
As  the  brides  and  grooms  a-smilinj 
Walk  the  primrose  way  beguilin', 
In  their  dreams  of  bliss  a-whilin' 
Honeyed  hours  by ! 

On  the  pike  the  tramps  are  trampin',  void  of  every  care, 
Ready  for  whatever  campin'  turns  up  anywhere. 

All  around  the  lambs  are  blattin' 

Like  a  lot  o'  kids  a-chattin', 

And  as  soft  as  fairy  satin 

Grows  the  mornin*  air  ! 

Dearest  June!  want  to  tell  yer,  you're  the  best  there  be  ! 
When  I  see,  or  even  smell  yer,  soul  is  full  o'  glee  ! 
And  no  single  day  that  passes 
But  the  thought  o'  greenin'  grasses, 
Lovin'  lads,  and  lovin'  lasses, 
Thrills  the  heart  o'  me  ! 
41 


June 

Love's  the  word,  and  Love's  the  token,  burden  of  our 

tune; 

Trademark  ever  true,  unbroken,  mornin',  night,  an* 
noon. 

Love,  and  Life,  and  merry  Laughter, 
Echoin'  through  wood  and  rafter  — 
Naught  before,  ner  nothin'  after 
Ever  touches  June ! 


42 


THE  LITTLE  ELFMAN 

I  MET  a  little  Elfman  once, 
Down  where  the  lilies  blow. 

I  asked  him  why  he  was  so  small, 
And  why  he  didn't  grow. 

He  slightly  frowned,  and  with  his  eye 
He  looked  me  through  and  through 

"  I'm  just  as  big  for  me,"  said  he, 
"As  you  are  big  for  you  1" 


43 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  THE  KISS 

HE  saw  her  lips  and  deemed  them  roses  fair. 

A  flower  he  strove  to  pluck,  and  it  was  this  — 
I  have  it  from  a  fairy  who  was  there 
And  saw  it  all  while  peeping  from  his  lair  — 

Gave  first  to  man  that  perfect  flower  of  bliss 
The  Lover's  kiss ! 


44 


LOVE'S  DOMAIN 

FOR  Government  Republics  I  would  choose, 
Wherein  the  Star  of  Liberty  doth  shine ; 

Where  equal  rights  for  all  are  all  men's  dues, 
And  every  man's  a  King  by  right  divine  ! 

But  when  it  comes  to  Love  —  Autocracy  ! 

Avaunt,  ye  Brotherhoods  !    Ye  are  but  vain 
No  equal  rights  in  Chloe's  heart  for  me  — 

I'd  be  the  Czar  of  all  that  fair  demesne  ! 


45 


PHYLLIS:  DISCIPLINARIAN 

PHYLLIS  hath  the  strangest  way 
When  from  rectitude  I  stray 
Into  some  by-path  of  sin 
Of  bestowing  discipline. 


Not  a  syllable  of  blame  ! 
Not  a  scorching  glance  of  flame  ! 
Not  a  word,  and  not  a  look 
Comes  to  summon  me  to  book  — 

But,  alas  —  oh,  how  it  burns  !  — 
Straight  to  otherward  she  turns, 
And  for  all  that  I  can  see 
Never  seems  aware  of  me. 

It  is  quite  as  though  I  were 
In  a  world  apart  from  her ; 
On  some  planet  void  of  mirth 
Countless  leagues  away  from  earth, 

Or  as  if  —  if  there  at  all  — 
I  were  such  an  atom  small 
That  nobody'd  be  aware 
Of  the  fact  that  I  was  there. 
46 


Phyllis:  Disciplinarian 

Then,  when  I  wax  penitent, 
'Neath  this  lashing  punishment, 
Her  forgiveness  is  so  sweet 
That  my  lapse  I  oft  repeat ! 

'Tis  so  blissful  being  shriven 
That  I  sin  to  be  forgiven  ! 


47 


THE  ROAD  TO  ARCADY 

Now  tell  me  where  is  Arcady,  is  Arcady,  is  Arcady  ! 
Now  tell  me  where  is  Arcady,  for  that  is  where  I'd  be 
Is  it  beyond  that  golden  line 
That  dazzles  so  these  eyes  of  mine, 

Far  o'er  the  western  sea  ? 
Or  is  it  over  yonder  height 
Whereon  the  sun  is  gleaming  bright, 
And  smiling  happily  ? 

I've  sought  it,  0  this  many  a  year  — 
Tw  sought  it  far,  I've  sought  it  near, 
In  days  of  joy,  in  days  of  drear  — 
My  well-beloved  Arcady  ! 

O  Pilgrim  fair  to  Arcady,  to  Arcady,  to  Arcady, 
O  Pilgrim  unto  Arcady,  I'll  point  the  way  to  thee  ! 
Seek  thou  two  deeply  sparkling  eyes 
With  hues  as  soft  as  summer  skies, 

And  full  of  love  and  glee. 
Two  eyes  that  sparkle  with  delight, 
And  at  your  coming  glisten  bright 
And  twinkle  merrily. 

For  in  their  depths  you'll  find  the  way 
To  golden  scenes  and  pastures  gay, 
To  bowers  where  the  love-birds  play 
In  an  enchanted  Arcady  ! 
48 


The  Road  to  Arcady 

O  traveller  to  Arcady,  to  Arcady,  to  Arcady, 
0  traveller  to  Arcady,  take  heart  indeed  from  me  ! 
The  road  to  Arcady  is  not 
Along  some  dusty  highway  hot, 

And  full  of  misery ; 
JTis  not  a  pathway  drear,  forlorn, 
With  weary  stretch,  and  full  of  thorn, 
Beyond  some  distant  sea. 

But  where  there's  love  'twixt  man  and  maid, 
A  low  that  cannot  die,  nor  fade, 
You'll  find  the  golden  highway  laid 
That  leads  to  Arcady  ! 


49 


THE  SONGS  OF  SPRING 


THE  silver  brook  came  babbling  down 
From  yonder  hill-top's  snowy  crown, 
And  as  he  danced  along 
He  filled  the  air  with  song ; 

Right  merrily 
He  sang,  and  thus  sang  he : 

"The  spring  is  here  ! 

The  path  is  clear 
For  me  to  course  my  way 

Thro'  woodland  shade, 

And  ferny  glade, 
And  o'er  the  mosses  play ; 

To  dance  and  prank 

Thro'  flowery  bank, 
Down  to  the  river  free. 

My  heart's  elate, 

For  there  doth  wait 
The  bride  who  loveth  me, 

Who'll  sing 
The  gladsome  songs  of  spring  !" 

ii 

The  happy  bird  came  flying  North  ; 

Out  of  the  Southland  came  he  forth, 

50 


The  Songs  of  Spring 

And  as  he  winged  his  way 
He  sang  his  roundelay. 

Right  joyously 
He  sang,  and  thus  sang  he : 

"The  spring  hath  come, 

And  winter  numb 
Hath  sought  his  arctic  home. 

The  cherry-tree 

Hath  sweets  for  me, 
And  blossoms  frolicsome. 

The  forests  deep 

So  long  asleep 
Now  echo  to  the  rhyme 

Of  chaps  like  me 

Who've  longed  to  see 
The  joyous  Mating-time, 

And  sing 
The  gladsome  songs  of  spring  !" 

in 

The  little  bud  came  peeping  out 
To  see  what  it  was  all  about, 
And  when  he  spied  the  sky 
His  song  went  rising  high. 

Right  daintily 
He  sang,  and  thus  sang  he : 
"The  days  are  soft, 
The  sun's  aloft, 
And  soon  will  come  the  May. 
51 


The  Songs  of  Spring 

In  dainty  hues 

In  pinks  and  blues 
We'll  decorate  her  way. 

With  burgeoning 

Of  petalled  wing, 
We'll  make  her  pathway  sweet. 

We'll  fill  the  air 

With  fragrance  rare 
Of  roses  at  her  feet, 

And  sing 
The  gladsome  songs  of  spring  !" 


52 


IN  LIGHTBE   STEAIN 


IN  TROUTING  TIME 

Now  what  care  I  for  politics 

And  all  their  mad  and  foolish  tricks, 

And  demagogic  spouting  ? 
We've  reached  the  time  of  year  so  glad 
When  men  can  drop  the  woe  and  gad 
Of  daily  cares  and  go,  my  lad, 

With  rod  and  reel  a-trouting  ! 

Let  business  cares  be  what  they  may, 
Let  happen  what  may  hap  to-day 

In  all  this  world  of  doubting  — 
I  have  no  care,  for  free  am  I 
To  take  my  rod,  my  reel,  and  fly, 
And  to  the  distant  rillets  hie 

To  ease  my  soul  in  trouting  ! 

Prue  may  be  cross,  and  Bess  unkind, 
But  naught  I  care  I    I  shall  not  mind 

Their  frowning  and  their  pouting. 
But  from  the  social  whirl  I'll  slip 
And  to  the  vales  and  hillsides  skip, 
And  pool,  and  pond,  and  brooklet  whip, 

In  gay  and  joyous  trouting. 

The  rod,  the  reel,  the  hook,  the  line, 
And  leafy  ways  and  fish  for  mine  I 
55 


In  Trouting  Time 

I'm  off  upon  my  outing, 
'Mid  byways  peaceful  and  serene 
Up  in  the  hills  so  softly  green 
Where  trouble  never  shows  his  mien 

The  while  I'm  at  my  trouting  I 


56 


THE  NEW  SPAN 

"  Scientists  now  declare  that  the  ultimate  span  of  man's  years 
will  be  a  hundred  and  fifty."  —  Daily  Paper. 

IF  this  the  truth  turns  out  to  be 
O  what  a  lot  of  things  we'll  see 
'Twixt  now  and  mid-next-century  ! 
A  subway  built  to  Liverpool 
Beneath  the  ocean  deep  and  cool, 
All  made  of  glass  that  we  may  view 
The  mysteries  beneath  the  blue  ! 

An  air-ship  running  to  the  moon 
Where  lovers  all  may  go  to  spoon, 
Its  climate  always  May  or  June  ! 
And  possibly  a  branch  to  Mars, 
And  all  the  other  smiling  stars, 
And  for  the  chaps  a-motoring 
A  speedway  built  on  Saturn's  Ring  I 

New  patent  wings  that  we  may  fly 
At  will  across  the  spreading  sky, 
Far  up  above  the  mountains  high, 
Without  a  fear  we'll  bump  our  nose 
Upon  the  peaks,  or  stub  our  toes 
On  jagged  cliffs,  or  glacial  heights  — 
A  pastime  glad  for  summer  nights  ! 
57 


The  New  Span 

Cares  all  abolished  1    Woe  a  dearth  ! 
And  for  a  nation  full  of  mirth, 

UNITED   STATES   OF  ALL  THE   EAETH  ! 

And  all  the  navies  of  the  world 

Beneath  the  Red  Cross  Flag  unfurled, 

Devoted  to  the  Fresh  Air  Tots, 

Whose  hard-worked  parents  own  no  yachts  ! 

A  time  that's  glad,  a  time  that's  good  — 
A  Universal  Brotherhood, 
When  nobody's  misunderstood ! 
A  sort  of  general  Christmas-tide, 
With  just  Good  Will  on  every  side  — 
If  these  are  things  that  are  to  be, 
Bring  on  the  years  I    They'll  do  for  me  ! 


58 


THE  KATYDIDS 

I  WISH  some  Sage,  some  Philosophic  Cid, 

With  knowledge  of  the  facts,  or  some  invention, 
Would  tell  us  what  it  was  that  Katy  did 

That  causes  all  this  eventide  contention. 
It  must  have  been  some  very  awful  thing, 

Some  naughty  deed  of  wickedness  immortal, 
The  way  the  Dame's  posterity  doth  sing 

About  it  every  eve  around  my  portal. 

At  set  of  sun  th'  affirmatives  begin, 

Yet  bring  no  evidence  to  help  the  trial. 
Then  t'other  side  for  the  defence  put  in 

An  everlasting  chorus  of  denial. 
And  so  it  goes.    They  keep  it  up  all  night, 

All  thoughts  of  rest,  or  hope  of  verdict  scorning, 
With  ne'er  an  end  of  any  kind  in  sight 

When  routed  from  the  forum  by  the  morning. 

It  seems  to  me  a  foolish  sort  of  row, 

And  sad  to  see  so  many  thousands  nettled, 
When  if  we  knew  the  charge  perhaps  somehow 

It  might  be  compromised  or  wholly  settled. 
At  any  rate  I'm  full  of  charity, 

And  all  the  shrieking  crew  can  count  upon  it 
Until  the  charge  and  proofs  are  brought  to  me 

I  shan't  believe  that  Katy  ever  "done"  it ! 
59 


ARCHERY 

"ARCHERY'S  come  in  again  !" 

So  the  Sporting  Writers  shout. 
I  should  like  to  know  just  when 

Archery  was  ever  out. 
Long  as  I  have  been  alive 

Archers  bold  and  archers  fair 
Have  been  ruthless  with  the  drive 

Of  their  arrows  everywhere. 

There  is  Polly  —  archery 

Is  her  best  accomplishment. 
Scores  a  bull's-eye  clear  and  free 

Every  time  her  bow  is  bent. 
True,  an  arrow  seldom  flies 

When  the  lady  snaps  the  chord  - 
She  just  merely  lifts  her  eyes 

And  the  hit  is  duly  scored. 

Then  Myrtilla  —  you  should  see 

Fair  Myrtilla  take  a  shot ! 
Makes  her  hits  three  out  of  three, 

Not  a  miss  in  all  the  lot. 
Myrtle's  arrows  they  are  smiles, 

Sped  to  pierce  the  human  heart 
She,  like  Polly,  uses  wiles 

Substituted  for  the  dart. 
60 


Archery 

Daphne  too  is  champion 

In  the  arts  of  archery. 
She's  a  marvel  on  the  run 

Where  the  best  of  archers  be. 
Not  a  target  in  the  world 

But  doth  score  when  Daphne  shoots, 
Though  no  arrow  e'er  is  hurled  — 

Glances  are  her  substitutes. 

'Ware  these  archer  maids,  O  man  I 

They  are  too  expert  for  you. 
Watch  and  ward  you  if  you  can, 

For  their  aim  is  deadly  true. 
You  may  think  yourself  the  "beau" 

In  this  little  shooting  game, 
But  you'll  find  before  you  know 

You're  the  target  just  the  same  ! 


61 


YE  RIME  OF  YE  KNIGHTLIE  COWARD 

"  I  WILL  never  love  a  coward  ! "  quoth  the  Lady  fair  and 

bright. 

"Then  you'll  never  love  at  all,  Ma'am/'  answered  her 
the  doughty  Knight. 

"Sometimes  we  know  not  where  or  when 
You'll  surely  find  the  best  of  men 

His  back  against  the  wall ! 
His  noble  heart  distraught  with  fear, 
The  cry  of  foemen  in  his  ear, 
Who  fights  with  savage  lunge  and  leer 
Because  he  feels  that  death  is  near 
And  does  not  dare  to  fall ! 

"Sometimes  we  know  not  when  or  where 
The  coward  lurks  beneath  the  air 

Of  knightliest  cavalier. 
Whatever  things  he  seems  to  dare 
Spring  not  from  courage,  tried  and  rare, 
But  that  some  doubting  lady  fair 

May  not  suspect  his  fear. 

"The  wight  who  never  feared  a  space 
Belongs  not  to  the  human  race. 
He  never  lost,  he  never  won ; 
Great  deeds  of  might  he  may  have  done, 
62 


Ye  Rime  of  Ye  Knightlie  Coward 

But  no  achievement  of  the  heart 

Has  ever  fallen  to  his  part ; 

And  no  one  enters  perfect  bliss 

Who  has  not  tasted  cowardice, 

As  I  now  taste  it,  standing  here, 

Too  cowardly,  too  filled  with  fear, 

To  throw  Love's  gauntlet  down  and  dare 

Your  Ladyship,  so  loved,  so  fair, 

To  pick  it  up  and  face  with  me 

The  Tourney  of  What  Is  To  Be  I" 

Whereon  the  Lady,  'spite  of  what  she'd  said 
Herself  the  gauntlet  threw  straight  at  his  head, 
And  later  on,  I'm  told,  they  twain  were  wed. 

"The  way  it  came  about,"  quoth  she,  "was  this 
None  but  the  Brave  confess  to  Cowardice ; 
And  I  have  always  prayed  my  Lord  might  be 
A  Knight  to  others,  but  —  afraid  of  me  !" 


63 


MAUDE  MULLER 

MAUDE  MULLER  on  a  summer's  day 
Out  in  the  meadows  raked  away. 

The  Judge  came  by  just  as  of  yore, 
But  when  he  gazed  the  meadows  o'er 

In  search  of  Maude,  so  sweetly  fair, 
Was  not  aware  that  she  was  there, 

And  so  with  spirits  much  cast  down 
Kept  sadly  on  his  way  to  town. 

The  trouble  was,  the  maid's  new  hat 
She  wore  that  day  out  on  the  flat 

Loomed  up  so  large  both  front  and  back 
The  Judge  mistook  it  for  a  stack, 

And  never  knew  the  lady  gay 
Was  not  another  load  of  hay. 


THE  WISDOM  OF  THE  SPHINX 

I  SOUGHT  the  Sphinx  and  asked  advice 

On  how  to  woo  a  heart  of  ice. 

She  sat  in  silent  majesty 

And  ne'er  a  word  vouchsafed  to  me, 

But  with  a  cold  and  vacant  stare 

In  frigid  stillness  rested  there ; 

But  soon  her  answer  cleft  my  pate  — 

Her  pose  replied,  "!N  PATIENCE  WAIT  I" 

"How  shall  I  circumvent,"  quoth  I, 

"The  rival  who  is  always  nigh, 

And  fills  my  anxious  soul  with  fear 

Lest  he  shall  win  what  I  hold  dear  ?  " 

I  pleaded  hard,  and  still  the  same 

Deep  silence  for  my  portion  came ; 

Yet  soon  I  saw,  to  my  delight, 

The  answer  was,  "Sir  TIGHT  !   SIT  TIGHT  I" 

Again,  encouraged,  I  drew  near 
And  whispered  in  the  Sphinx's  ear : 
"What  need  I  most  to  win  Babette, 
On  whom  my  doting  heart  is  set  ? 
What  quality  of  strengthful  men 
Must  I  acquire  to  hope  again  ?  " 
Her  glance  went  speeding  o'er  the  land, 
And  there  I  found  my  answer  —  "SAND  I" 
F  65 


AT  THE  OPERA 

AYE,  truth  you  speak,  and  I  the  words  repeat  — 
The  music  at  the  Opera  was  sweet. 
I've  listened  to  the  lowing  of  the  herds, 
I've  sat  enthralled  by  measures  of  the  birds. 
I've  heard  the  lilt  that  penetrates  the  vale 
When  falling  twilight  spurs  the  Nightingale 
To  songs  as  sweet  as  ever  those  that  ring 
Through  Heaven's  streets  when  happy  Angels  sing. 

Yet  none  of  these  hath  ever  seemed  so  rare 
As  those  sweet  measures,  tuneful  past  compare, 
That  fell  upon  my  listening  ears  last  night, 
And  filled  my  soul  with  rapture  and  delight. 
What  Opera  was  it  ?    Well,  I  cannot  say 
If  it  were  Wagner,  Verdi,  or  Bizet  — 
The  music  I  refer  to  was  the  chime 
Of  Daphne 's  voice  a-babbling  all  the  time. 


A  LEAP-YEAR  DILEMMA 

Now  what  the  dickens  shall  I  do  ? 
I  bring  my  cry  for  help  to  you  — 
On  every  side  deep  woe  besets ; 
My  heart  runs  over  with  regrets, 
For  I'm  the  kind  of  chap,  I  trow, 
That  never  learned  to  answer  "No  !" 

Whatever  a  maiden  asks  of  me, 

No  matter  what  the  favor  be, 

I  always  promptly  answer  "YES," 

And  hence  hath  risen  my  distress  — 

Distress  indeed  of  such  a  kind 

That  it  has  nearly  wrecked  my  mind. 

Last  week  I  called  on  fair  Babette, 

On  Susan,  Bess,  and  dear  Janette ; 

On  Genevieve,  Matilda,  Jane, 

Priscilla,  Prue,  and  Madeleine ; 

And  —  how  my  poor  heart  whirls  and  whirrs 

EACH  MAIDEN   ASKED   ME   TO   BE   HERS  I 

Twas  "YES"  to  Bab,  and  "YES"  to  Prue; 
'Twas  "YES"  to  Genevieve  and  Sue; 
'Twas  "YES"  to  Madeleine,  and  "YES" 
To  Jane,  Priscilla,  Mat,  and  Bess  — 
And  quite  a  dozen  others  too  — 
O  what  the  dickens  shall  I  do  ! 
67 


PEGASUS:  HIS  SINECURE 

I  MET  old  Pegasus  to-day 

While  circling  through  the  air ; 
He  seemed  as  frisky  and  as  gay 

As  when  the  gods  were  there. 
His  sides  were  sleek,  his  eye  was  keen, 

His  mane  was  freshly  groomed ; 
His  stride  and  sweep  were  just  as  clean 

As  when  Parnassus  bloomed. 

I  hailed  him  with  a  deal  of  joy, 

For  Pegasus  and  I, 
Long  years  ago  when  I,  a  boy, 

Aspired  to  soar  the  sky, 
Were  on  good  terms,  and  now  and  then 

He'd  tiptoe  in  at  night 
And  take  me  from  the  realms  of  men 

On  some  romantic  flight. 

"Dear  Pegasus  !"  I  gayly  cried. 

"My  good  old  friend  of  yore, 
In  all  your  glory  and  your  pride 

You  glad  my  eyes  once  more  ! 
I  feared  you  dead,  or  even  worse, 

Dear  Pegasus,  alack, 
To  judge  from  sundry  modern  verse 

Hitched  to  some  shabby  hack  I 
68 


Pegasus:  His  Sinecure 

"I  feared  perhaps  like  steeds  below, 

Once  sturdy,  strong,  and  fleet, 
You'd  come  upon  those  days  of  woe 

That  proved  you  obsolete ; 
No  longer  driven  by  the  hand 

Of  singers  temerous 
Whose  labors  in  this  day  demand 

An  Auto-Pegasus ! " 

"Neigh  !    Neigh  !"  he  whinnied  with  a  smile. 

"I'm  happy  as  can  be. 
I've  got  a  new  job  of  a  style 

That  suits  me  to  a  T. 
I'm  stationed  on  these  airy  lanes  — 

A  fairly  easy  berth  — 
To  tow  the  stranded  Aeroplanes 

Back  to  the  solid  earth  I" 


69 


THE  END  OF  THE  QUARREL 

I  PASSED  her  by  with  noisy  tread, 
But  she,  she  never  raised  her  head, 
But  read,  and  read,  and  read,  and  read. 

She'd  turn  the  pages  o'er  and  o'er, 
And  on  each  printed  line  she'd  pore 
As  if  she'd  never  read  before. 

I  hemmed,  and  coughed,  and  hummed  an  air ; 
I  sneezed,  and  stamped,  and  scraped  my  chair 
To  intimate  that  I  was  there. 

But  ne'er  a  glance  gave  she  to  me. 
She  simply  read  on  steadily, 
As  wholly  rapt  as  rapt  could  be. 

And  then  I  spoke,  "My  dearest  Prue," 
Said  I,  "if  I've  offended  you 
I'm  sorry,  and  if  I  but  knew  — " 

She  raised  her  head  and  with  a  glance 
As  distant  as  the  coast  of  France  — 
The  kind  the  poets  call  askance  — 

"  Excuse  me,  sir,"  she  said,  so  cold 
I  feared  that  I'd  been  overbold, 
"I'm  reading.    I've  no  wish  to  scold  — " 
70 


The  End  of  the  Quarrel 

And  then  despite  her  angry  frown 

My  laughter  almost  reached  the  town  — 

The  book  she  held  was  upside  down  ! 

What  I  got  then  it  were  remiss 

To  set  down  in  a  verse  like  this ; 

But  it  was  sweet  and  rhymed  with  "bliss 


71 


SIGHT  SEEING 

I  CLIMBED  a  tree  so  high  one  day 

I  saw  around  the  world. 
I  saw  the  Bay  of  old  Biscay, 

And  Spanish  flags  unfurled. 
My  vision  wandered  o'er  the  snow 

And  ice  of  Alpine  peaks, 
Then  sought  the  tempered  vales  below 

And  lingered  'mongst  the  Greeks. 

I  looked  across  the  broad  Black  Sea, 

Past  mountains  of  Thibet ; 
And  further  to  the  Siamee, 

And  China's  ocean  wet. 
Mine  eye  passed  o'er  the  Philippines 

To  Honolulu  fair, 
And  thence  unto  the  lovely  greens 

Nigh  Pasadena  rare. 

Thence  eastward  o'er  the  Rockies  to 

The  Mississippi's  shores, 
Chicago  next,  then  Buffalo, 

Past  where  Niagara  roars. 
Across  the  State  of  York  I  peered 

Through  Adirondack  spruce. 
By  Utica's  green  places  veered, 

Thence  on  to  Syracuse. 
72 


Sight  Seeing 

Next  Albany,  and  rare  Cohoes, 
Thence  onward  to  the  font 

Whence  doughty  Ethan  Allen  rose, 
The  green  hills  of  Vermont ; 

Across  New  Hampshire's  peaks  so  tall 
My  vision  homeward  sped, 

And  there,  most  welcome  sight  of  all, 

THE   BACK   OF  MY   OWN   HEAD  ! 


73 


THE  PLAINT  OF  UNCLE  EBENEZER 

I'M  sort  of  tired  of  things  that  is ; 
They're  lackin'  somewhat  as  to  fizz. 
There  ain't  no  ginger  in  life's  jar 
With  things  a-goin'  as  they  are. 
The  fault  may  be  with  me,  and  then 
It  may  be  otherwise  again  — 
I  ain't  a-tryin'  to  fix  no  blame 
Becuz  all  tastes  about  the  same. 

Howe'er  it  be  I  wish  we  might 
Find  things  reversed  a  bit  some  night, 
So  that  instead  of  as  they  be 
They'd  work  towards  the  contrary. 
I'd  like  to  see  some  mountain  rill 
Have  spunk  enough  to  flow  up  hill, 
So  that  old  Nature  might  be  shown 
It  had  opinions  of  its  own. 

I'd  like  to  see  the  settin'  sun 
Out  in  the  East  when  day  is  done, 
Just  as  a  hint  when  goin'  to  bed 
To  prove  it  wasn't  bigoted. 
I'd  like  to  hear  a  bull-frog  sing 
Like  Nightingales  upon  the  wing 
Instead  of  that  eternal  "chunk" 
With  which  he  seeks  his  swampy  bunk. 
74 


The  Plaint  of  Uncle  Ebenezer 

A  cat  that  barks ;  a  dog  that  miaows, 
And  when  it  comes  to  milkin'  cows 
'Twould  cheer  me  up  to  get  a  pail 
Of  lemonade  or  ginger-ale ; 
And  if  the  bucket  in  the  well 
Would  give  up  watter  for  a  spell 
And  bring  me  up  some  fresh  root-beer 
There'd  be  no  kick  a-comin'  here. 

'Tain't  discontent  that's  vexin'  me 
With  life  so  everlastin'ly 
But  just  a  sort  o'  parchin'  thirst 
To  get  a  peek  at  things  reversed. 
They  Ve  been  the  same  so  very  long 
A  change  would  strike  me  pretty  strong, 
And  though  I'm  makin'  no  complaint 
For  once  I'd  like  'em  as  they  ain't ! 


75 


INCORPORATED 

SHE  said  on  Monday  she'd  be  mine 

Forever  and  for  aye. 
On  Tuesday  with  a  smile  divine 

She  said  the  same  to  Jay. 
On  Wednesday  eve  this  maiden  fair 

Our  hearts  were  set  upon 
Gave  up  a  tress  of  golden  hair 

To  pledge  her  troth  to  John. 

On  Thursday  Reginald  came  by, 

And  late  on  Thursday  night 
With  softly  whispered,  loving  sigh 

She  made  his  future  bright. 
On  Friday  James  appeared,  and  she 

Just  as  to  us  before 
With  beaming  eyes  declared  she'd  be 

His  own  forevermore. 

On  Saturday  'twas  Abraham 

Who  won  her  much-sought  hand, 
Although  that  morn  she'd  promised  Sam 

To  meet  him  on  the  sand  ; 
And  Sunday  evening  after  church 

Beneath  the  lunar  glim 
She  promised  rich  old  Billy  Birch 

That  she'd  be  true  to  him. 
76 


Incorporated 

And  that  is  why  we  swains  have  met 

Down  by  the  summer  sea 
There  in  the  damp  and  sodden  wet 

To  form  a  Company  — 
To  form  THE  PRUDENCE  SYNDICATE, 

And  float  a  million  shares, 
A  market  for  them  to  create 

Amongst  the  millionaires. 

Our  Assets,  one  small  bit  of  fluff 

With  mighty  "taking"  ways, 
And  hand  that  seems  quite  big  enough 

For  sixty  fiances  — 
Step  up,  all  ye  who  wish  to  win 

A  roomy  heart  and  true, 
And  buy  a  block  of  "Common"  in 

AMALGAMATED  PRUE  ! 


77 


THE  WISDOM  OF  SILAS 

FAITH  ?    That's  sure  believin' 
Things  that  look  deceiving 
And  their  ways  behoovin' 
Though  they  can't  be  proven. 

HOPE  ?    That  is  a  feelin' 
That  comes  o'er  ye  stealin' 
In  the  midst  o'  sorrer 
You'll  be  gay  tomorrer. 

CHARITY  ?    That's  givin' 
Suthin'  of  your  livin' 
To  some  one  or  other 
Like  he  was  your  Brother. 

VIRTUE  ?    That  is  suthin' 
That  don't  bring  ye  nuthin' 
But  a  pleasant  i-dee 
That  you're  boney-fidee. 

LOVE  ?    That's  suthin'  funny, 
Sort  o'  bright  and  sunny, 
That  comes  up  and  nabs  ye 
When  the  right  gal  grabs  ye. 
78 


The  Wisdom  of  Silas 

If  ye  get  these  five  'uns, 
Keep  'em  good  and  live  'uns, 
Sure  as  I'm  a  sinner 
You'll  come  out  a  winner  ! 


79 


TO  FORTUNE:  A  PRAYER 

HEAR,  O  Fortune,  prithee  hear  — 

To  my  pleading  lend  an  ear : 

I  come  asking  not  for  gold 

More  than  can  my  coffers  hold ; 

I  seek  not  a  bank-account 

Of  a  fabulous  amount ; 

Jewels  brilliant,  gems  galore, 

I  have  little  liking  for  ! 

I  don't  want  of  £.  s.  d. 

So  much  that  'twill  worry  me ; 

Acres  broad,  and  real  estate, 

Vaults  all  bulging  with  the  weight 

Of  the  bonds  of  steel  and  oil 

For  which  countless  thousands  toil. 

Stocks  that  rise  and  stocks  that  fall 

Don't  appeal  to  me  at  all  — 

But  the  burden  of  my  prayer 

Is  ENOUGH,  and  some  to  spare  ! 

Give  me  this,  with  Love,  and  Song, 
And  I  guess  I'll  get  along. 


80 


THE  UP-TO-DATE  FARMER 

HE  was  a  farmer  up  to  date.    He  knew  each  why  and 

how. 
He  had  pink  ribbons  on  his  gate,  and  straw  hats  for 

each  cow. 
He  also  had  a  Morris  chair  a-fastened  to  his  plough. 

He  had  a  phonograph  to  call  the  wandering  kine  at  e'en, 
And  all  the  grass  upon  his  lawns  was  freshly  painted 

green  — 
A  greener  place  than  his  I  don't  believe  was  ever  seen. 

Upon  the  scarecrow  in  the  field  he  placed  a  beaver  hat, 
And  on  its  feet  were  brand-new  boots,  each  covered 

with  a  spat ; 

And  where  the  scarecrow's  stomach  was  looked  pros 
perous  and  fat. 

The  farm-hands  all  wore  jackets  red,  and  worked  with 

polished  hoes, 

And  in  the  lapel  of  each  coat  was  placed  a  Beauty  Rose, 
And  little  coons  held  parasols  to  shade  each  worker's 

nose. 

• 

The  wheels  of  all  his  whirring  wains   were   tied  to 
gramophones 

G  81 


The  Up-to-Date  Farmer 

That  sounded  pretty  waltzes,  'stead  of  noisy  creaks 

and  groans 
When  straining  o'er  the  country  roads  of  thank-ye- 

marms  and  stones. 

At  eve  when  sunset's  lovely  glow  made  all  the  sky  a 

prism 
He  called  the  farm-hands  with  a  horn  and  kept  them 

free  of  schism 
With  little  talks  on  "Simple  Life/'  "Sunshine,"  and 

"Pragmatism." 

His  horses  he  provided  all  with  bedsteads  made  of  brass, 
And  every  pillow  'neath  their  heads  was  made  of  fresh- 
cut  grass, 

And  those  that  couldn't  sleep  were  lulled  to  rest  with 
laughing-gas. 

The  pigs  were  scrubbed  with  Silver  Dust,  and  white 
washed  white  as  snow, 

And  in  each  pen  hung  copies  of  rare  paintings  by 
Rousseau, 

With  here  and  there  a  Whistler,  or  a  lithographed  Corot. 

His  sheep  were  never  sheared  at  all  —  marcelled  was 

every  hair, 
And  every  ram  upon  the  place  had  quite  a  polished 

air  — 
By   proper   treatment    e'en    a    goat    becomes    quite 

debonair. 

82 


The  Up-to-Date  Farmer 

The  bulls  were  up  on  etiquette,  and  if  by  day  or  night 
You  met  them  strolling  in  the  fields  were  ever  most 

polite  — 
I  don't  believe  Lord  Chesterfield  was  a  more  charming 

sight. 

And  so  with  everything  he  had.  This  farmer  up  to 
date 

Had  things  as  fine  as  fine  could  be  from  barn-yard  to 
the  gate  — 

His  hay-scales  e'en  were  covered  with  a  wash  of  nickel- 
plate. 

And  though  he  seldom  raised  a  bean,  potato,  or  a 

pea, 
He  waxed  as  fat  and  prosperous  as  one  could  wish  to 

be 
Who  tried  to  live  the  farmer's  life,  as  did  his  wife  and 

he; 

For  thousands  came  from  far  and  wide,  on  foot,  by 

train,  a-wheel, 

To  see  this  wondrous  farm  of  his,  if  it  was  truly  real  — 
And  these  he  charged  ten  dollars  for  a  thirty-five  cent 

meal, 

Until  his  coffers  waxed  as  fat  as  those  of  Mr.  Guelph  — 
He  simply  rolled  in  silver,  gold,  and  other  kinds  of 

pelf  — 

If  so  you  don't  believe  it  figure  out  the  thing  yourself. 

83 


The  Up-to-Date  Farmer 

And  then  besides  he  added  much  each  month  unto  his 

means 
By  writing  articles  on  BEETS,  and  THORNLESS  LIMA 

BEANS, 
The  which  were  snapped  up  eagerly,   and  used  by 

magazines. 

From  all  of  which  I  gather  in  a  general  sort  of  way 
Those  folks  are  talking  foolishly  who  rise  them  up  to 

say 
In  accents  full  of  sympathy  that  Farming  doesn't  pay. 


84 


DIPLOMACY 

IF  you  know  a  little  lady 

With  a  tongue  that's  rather  tart, 
And  a  liking  for  the  shady 

Bits  of  gossip  of  the  mart, 
And  she  tells  a  tale  about  you 

That  she  knows  to  be  untrue, 
Causing  many  folks  to  doubt  you, 
What  is  it  that  you  should  do  ? 
No  !    You  mustn't  use  the  phrases  you  would  use  about 

a  man. 
Turn  and  sound  the  lady's  praises  just  as  loudly  as  you 

can. 
Never    call    a   dame    "SAPPHIRA!"     Such   a   course 

would  hardly  pay. 
'Twill  be  heaping  coals  to  fire  her,  should  you  say : 


"  She  is  gifted  with  that  elusive 
charm  that  is  sometimes  found  in 
a  woman  endowed  by  Nature  with 
a  constitutional  infirmity  of  verbal 
purpose." 


Put  it  neatly,  and  discreetly, 
Put  it  sweetly,  with  an  air 

85 


Diplomacy 

That  you're  saying  something  pleasant  of  your  enemy 
so  fair. 

Put  it  nicely,  and  concisely, 

Put  it  wisely  —  with  a  twist  — 
And  you'll  gain  a  reputation  as  a  great  Diplomatist ! 

If  you  have  a  Taxicabby 

With  a  granite  sort  of  face, 
And  a  muscle  far  from  flabby, 

As  is  frequently  the  case, 
And  he  charges  you  a  dollar 
For  a  quarter  mile  or  two, 
And  you  feel  you  ought  to  holler  — 

What's  the  thing  for  you  to  do  ? 
No  !    You  mustn't  use  the  phrases  you  would  use  to 

smaller  fry. 

Chaps  with  such  peculiar  faces  are  a  menace  to  the  eye. 
Never   call    the   cabby   "LOAFER!"    Such   a   course 

would  hardly  pay  — 
It  will  freeze  that  pirate  Chauffeur  should  you  say : 


"  Really,  my  good  sir,  I  had  sup 
posed  that  Ali  Baba  and  his  Forty 
Pals  had  passed  over  the  Great  Divide. 
When  did  you  all  return?  " 


Put  it  neatly,  and  discreetly, 
Put  it  sweetly,  with  an  air 
86 


Diplomacy 
That  you're  saying  something  pleasant — THEN  FORGET 

TO  PAY  YOUR  FARE  ! 

Do  it  chicly,  politic-ly, 
Fading  quickly  from  his  fist, 
And  you'll  gain  a  reputation  as  a  great  Diplomatist ! 

If  your  friend  has  penned  a  novel 

That  you  know  is  very  bad, 
There's  no  need  to  go  and  grovel 

Just  to  make  the  fellow  glad. 
When  he  asks  you  if  you  like  it, 
And  you  wish  to  tell  him  true 
That  he  really  ought  to  hike  it 

Up  the  literary  flue  — 
No !    You  mustn't  use  the  phrases  you  would  use  to 

give  the  hook 

In  the  ordinary  cases  to  a  dull  and  stupid  book. 
Do  not   call   his   novel  "  DRIVEL  ! "    Such  a   course 

would  hardly  pay. 
It  will  be  a  deal  more  civil  should  you  say : 


"  Yes,  Henry,  I've  read  your  novel, 
and  by  the  way,  while  on  that  subject, 
did  you  ever  think  of  taking  up 
plumbing  as  a  profession?  They 
tell  me  it  is  wry  profitable" 


Put  it  neatly,  and  discreetly, 
Put  it  sweetly,  with  an  air 

87 


Diplomacy 

That  you're  saying  something  pleasant  to  a  genius 
rather  rare. 

Put  it  gently,  innocently, 

Incident'ly,  hit  or  missed, 
And  you'll  gain  a  reputation  as  a  great  Diplomatist ! 


88 


THE  WORLD,  DR. 

THE  World  owed  me  my  share  of  bread, 

My  meed  of  joy  and  pleasure. 
It  owed  me  roof,  and  chair,  and  bed, 

My  share  likewise  of  leisure. 
It  owed  me  clothing  for  my  back, 

And  cash  wherewith  to  fund  it, 
So  I  went  out  upon  its  track, 

And  night  and  day  I  dunned  it. 

With  brain,  and  brawn,  and  energy, 

My  powers  all  releasing, 
I  dunned  it  on  the  land  and  sea, 

With  labor  all  unceasing. 
I  dunned  it  with  the  sweat  of  brow, 

No  chances  ever  scorning. 
My  hand  was  ever  at  the  plough 

With  each  recurrent  morning. 

No  matter  where  the  world  lay  hid 

I  constantly  pursued  it, 
And  what  man  could  do  that  I  did  — 

I  threatened  it  and  wooed  it. 
The  debt  it  owed  all  fully  paid 

I  constantly  demanded, 
Nor  would  I  ever  be  gainsaid 

When  Mr.  World  seemed  stranded. 
89 


The  World,  Dr. 

The  food  was  there,  the  joy  was  there ; 

The  roof,  the  bed,  the  table, 
And  cash  enough,  and  some  to  spare 

Like  treasure  in  the  fable ; 
And  back  of  all  the  needs  of  life 

In  most  abundant  measure 
Lay  sweet  relief  from  rush  and  strife 

In  golden  days  of  leisure. 

And  thus  I  dunned,  and  dunned,  and  dunned, 

Incessantly,  untiring, 
And  soon  instead  of  being  shunned 

I  found  the  World  admiring. 
And  then  it  paid,  and  yet  the  more 

My  credit  balance  showed  me 
There  seemed  in  an  increasing  store 

No  end  to  what  it  owed  me  ! 

ENVOY 

The  World  is  glad  to  pay  its  stakes, 

Nor  wishes  to  reject  them, 
To  every  Creditor  who  takes 

The  trouble  to  collect  them. 


90 


THE  JUNKMAN 
A  Literary  Parable 

NIBBS  wrote  for  years,  and  years,  and  years 

Poor  wight !    His  harvest  was  but  tears, 

For  every  line  he  wrote,  alack, 

Came  like  a  homing-pigeon  back, 

Until  his  dwelling  was  packed  full 

Of  manuscripts  unsalable, 

And  all  his  walls  in  endless  strips 

Were  papered  with  rejection  slips. 

His  cellar  held  quite  twenty  score 
Of  Tales  of  Love,  and  maybe  more, 
And  every  book-shelf  in  the  place 
Ran  o'er  with  stories  of  the  chase. 
In  bureau  drawer,  in  trunk  and  chest, 
In  highboy,  lowboy,  packed  and  pressed, 
Lay  sketches,  novelettes,  and  rhymes, 
Which  he  had  penned  at  sundry  times, 

He  caught  the  measles,  and  at  last 
From  out  this  vale  of  tears  he  passed ; 
But  where  he  went  to  none  can  say  — 
We  only  know  he  passed  away. 
His  widow  wed  again,  a  wight 
Who  called  the  Junkman  in  one  night, 
And  as  waste-paper  sold  that  store 
Of  stories  Nibbs  had  struggled  o'er. 
91 


The  Junkman 

'Twas  then  there  dawned  upon  the  land 
A  miracle  of  genius  grand  — 
A  man  who'd  never  gone  to  school, 
Yet  reeled  off  tales  as  from  a  spool  — 
An  endless  spool  at  that,  and  who 
Though  rough  the  Muses  fair  could  woo, 
As  did  the  bards  of  Queen  Bett's  age  — 
The  JUNKMAN  POET  was  the  rage. 

The  Junkman's  novels  had  a  sale 
That  turned  the  Six  Best  Sellers  pale, 
And  publishers  in  frenzied  race 
Outbid  each  other  in  the  chase 
For  storied  stuff  he  had  to  sell, 
And  those  who  got  it  did  right  well, 
For  everywhere  folks  raved  the  while 
About  the  Junkman's  "splendid  style." 

The  moral  ?    Well,  I've  sometimes  thunk 
He  waxeth  fat  who  deals  in  junk  ! 


92 


FISHIN' 

DON'T  ye  talk  to  me  of  work  ! 

I'm  jest  goin'  fishin' 
Where  the  speckled  beauties  lurk, 

Round  the  pools  a-swishin'. 
Ne'er  a  thought  have  I  of  care, 
Settin'  on  a  green  bank  there, 
Drinkin'  in  the  soft  June  air, 

Void  of  all  ambition  ! 

I  don't  care  much  what  I  ketch, 

Long  as  I  am  anglin'. 
What  I  carry,  what  I  fetch, 

On  my  string  a-danglin'. 
Makes  no  difference  to  me  — 
Some  or  none,  whiche'er  it  be  — 
While  I'm  off  there  wholly  free 

From  all  scenes  of  wranglin'. 

Fishin'  ain't  jest  ketchin'  fish 

In  a  pond  or  river  — 
Though  a  fresh  trout  on  a  dish 

Makes  ye  sort  o'  shiver  — 
Fishin's  settin'  on  some  spot 
Where  it's  neither  cold  ner  hot, 
Without  thinkin'  on  your  lot  — 

Fortune,  love,  or  liver. 
93 


Fishin' 

Fishin's  gettin'  far  away 
From  all  noise  and  flurry ; 

Gettin'  off  where  you  can  play 
Nothings  in  a  hurry ; 

There  to  sort  o'  loaf,  and  set, 

Blind  to  all  the  things  that  fret, 

And  forgettin'  all  regret, 
Quarrils,  cares,  and  worry. 

Yessir  !    I'll  give  up  ambition, 
And  fer  fame  and  fortune  wishin3 
Any  day  to  go  a-fishin' ! 


94 


ON  A  STORMY  MAY-DAY 

MAY  hath  forgot  her  manners,  I  do  fear  — 
This  fairest  child  of  all  the  gladsome  year 
Comes  in  with  poutings,  and  with  suller  mien, 
Instead  of  smiling  like  a  vernal  Queen. 
She's  weeping  too,  with  frowns  upon  her  brow, 
And  truly  hath  forgot  her  pleasant  bow. 
Egad  !    I  guess  the  reason  for  her  woes, 
Rude  April  leaving  trod  upon  her  toes  ! 


95 


A-E-I-O-U 

A  COMETH  first,  and  all  because 

Of  certain  Alphabetic  Laws. 

We'd  have  no  Alphabet  to-day 

If  we  had  not  that  vowel  Ay 

Because,  it's  just  as  sure  as  sin, 

We  can't  have  things  that  don't  begin. 

E  cometh  second,  if  you  please, 
Although  some  folks  place  first  their  Ease. 
I  love  it  well  because,  you  see 
If  you  have  wit,  it's  half  of  ME  ; 
Without  it  I  should  have  no  feet, 
And  nothing  in  the  world  to  Eat. 

7?    Well,  I'm  rather  fond  of  I 
Although  I  work  it  strenuously. 
'Tis  somewhat  personal,  and  it 
Is  quite  the  centre  of  all  Wit. 
And  though  you'll  find  it  in  distress 
It's  never  wanting  Happ-i-ness. 

0  is  a  vowel  I  admire  — 
Though  what  I  owe  is  often  dire  ! 
And  though  'tis  Naught,  it's  part  of  gold ; 
Tis  in  each  Joy  that  we  behold, 
And  Love  could  hardly  be  the  same 
If  we'd  no  0  to  spell  its  name. 
96 


A-E-I-O-U 

The  last  is  U.    Well,  I  should  call 
This  vowel  quite  the  best  of  all. 
Let  me  have  U  and  I'll  give  o'er 
The  blessings  of  the  other  four. 
The  reason  ?    Ah,  dear  Heart,  'tis  true 
It's  just  because,  my  Love,  it's  YOU  I 


97 


A  CONFESSION 

SUCH  matters  it  perhaps  were  best  for  us  to  hold  sub 

rosa, 

Yet  'tother  night  when  Prue  I  caught  beneath  the 
mistletoe,  sir, 

I  kissed  her  twice  — 
I  kissed  her  thrice  — 
And  every  one  SUB  NCSA  ! 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  STRAND 

said  an  author  who  had  starved  to  death 
Went  walking  some  years  after  he  had  lost  his  breath 
In  spirit  up  Fleet  Street,  then  down  the  Strand 
And  found  himself  before  a  Bookman's  stand. 
"What's  this  ?"  he  mused,  as  in  his  hand 

A  book 

He  took. 

"Dear  me,  my  verse  !"  he  cried,  and  kissed  the  tome. 
"  You  killed  me — cost  me  roof,  and  hearth,  and  home. 

To  publish  you  I  spent 

My  last  red  cent, 

But  none  would  buy, 

And  I 

Was  soon  the  sorry  shadow  of  my  former  self, 
While  you  lay  snugly  on  my  dusty  shelf. 

Heigho  1"  he  sighed. 

"You  were  my  pride/ 
And  ruin  1"     Quoth  the  Book,  "Not  so  — 
You  died  too  soon  to  really  know. 

I  have  become 
A  rarity,  and  worth  a  wondrous  sum, 

And  through  me  now 
You  wear  a  bright  green  laurel  on  your  brow  ! " 

E'en  as  the  volume  spake 
A  mortal  came,  the  little  book  did  take, 
And  as  the  spirit  watched  him  from  the  shade 
Some  twenty  pounds  for  it  he  forthwith  paid. 
99 


A  Legend  of  the  Strand 

"Egad  I"  the  author  cried,  as  back  he  sped 
To  Hades,  "  I  have  resting  on  my  head 
Enough  of  hay  entwined  to  feed  a  horse  ! 
I'm  proud  of  that  —  O  yes,  I  am,  of  course. 
But  what  a  shame  to  decorate 

An  author's  pate 
And  leave  his  stomach  to  disintegrate  !" 


100 


AS  TO  LINEAGE 

"FiKST  families"  are  very  fine, 

If  one  believes  in  caste. 
Tis  very  well  to  have  a  line 
Of  Ancestors  for  eons  nine  — 
Fair  Eve  and  Adam  started  mine 

But,  take  it  first  and  last, 
There's  little  in  a  family  tree 

Whose  fruit  has  gone  to  seed ; 
'Tis  better  far  for  one  to  be 
A  mushroom  minus  pedigree, 
But  of  the  best  variety 

In  character  and  deed. 


My  boast  is  not  of  how  I  trace 

My  line  to  noble  Guelph, 
Or  other  leaders  in  the  race, 
But  how  I'm  going  to  win  a  place, 
However  fast  or  hot  the  pace, 

As  Ancestor  myself : 
So  that,  when  all  is  over  here, 

Up  in  that  realm  of  bliss, 
My  forebears  back  to  Adam's  year 
When  I  arrive  will  loudly  cheer, 
And  whisper  in  their  neighbors'  ear 

"WE'RE  RELATIVES  OF  HIS  ! " 
101 


THE  PRANKSOME  MUSES 

THE  Poet  knew  the  Rules  of  Song, 

And  never  got  a  measure  wrong. 

The  Ploughman  knew  no  laws  of  rhyme, 

Yet  was  he  singing  all  the  time. 

The  Ploughman  voiced  his  simple  heart. 

The  Poet  practised  well  his  Art. 

The  twain  Parnassus  climbed  one  day 
And  met  the  Muses,  so  they  say, 
And  when  the  wreaths  were  given  out 
The  Poet  got  none,  but  the  lout 
Who  sped  the  plough,  by  Helicon, 
They  put  a  pea-green  laurel  on  ! 


102 


FATE 

WHAT  care  I  if  Fate  hath  written 
What  my  destiny  shall  be  ? 

That's  no  reason  to  be  sittin' 
Down  thro'  all  eternity. 

I'll  be  up,  and  I'll  be  doin', 
Careless  of  the  by-and-by, 

And,  whatever  Fate  is  brewin', 
Have  a  finger  in  the  pie  ! 


103 


THE  SPECIALISTS 

IT  was  a  blithe  Conductor  on  an  urban  trolley-line, 

His  uniform  was  spandy,  and  his  buttons  they  were  fine. 

I  asked  him  would  he  tell  me  where  I  ought  to  leave 
the  tram 

To  get  the  nearest  Ferry  to  North  Central  Rotterdam. 

He  paid  me  no  attention  but  danced  gayly  down  the 
aisle 

With  very  supercilious  and  irritating  smile. 

Again  I  put  the  question,  and  he  coldly  answered  me : 

"  When   seeking    information    ask    Conductor    Twenty- 
three!" 

His  specialty  I  now  saw  well 
Was  merely  jingling  of  a  bell. 

I  rushed  into  a  restaurant  to  get  a  hasty  meal 

And  told  the  waiter  I  should  like  a  little  bit  of  veal. 

He  wandered  off.     An  hour  passed.     I  summoned  him 

once  more, 

And  gave  again  the  order  I  had  given  him  before. 
He  gazed  out  through  the  window  with  a  look  quite 

far  away ; 

About  his  lips  a  furtive  smile  was  making  a  display. 
"I'm  very  sorry,"  he  remarked.     "The  veal-man  isn't 

here. 

But  when  he  comes  I'll  tell  him  what  you  want  avec  plaisir." 
'Twas  then  I  learned  this  precious  clam 
Served  nothing  else  but  pickled  ham. 
104 


The  Specialists 

The  pipes  were  bursting  everywhere,  and  floods  were 

all  about. 

The  parlor  was  so  flooded  the  piano  floated  out. 
The  dining-room  was  deluged  with  a  freshet  so  immense 
It  made  the  storied  Ganges  look  like  twenty-seven  cents. 
I  quickly  'phoned  the  plumber,  and  he  answered  me  at 

once, 

But  acted  like  a  copper-fastened,  armor-plated  dunce. 
"  Why  don't  you  get  to  work  f  "  I  cried,  so  mad  I  scarce 

could  speak. 
"  You  asked  me  what  the  matter  was,"  said  he,  "and 

it's  a  leak." 

His  sphere  was  of  the  special  type 
Of  merely  looking  at  a  pipe. 

Some  time  ago  quite  carelessly  I  fell  into  the  sea. 

The  water  was  so  deep  and  rough  'twas  quite  too  much 
for  me. 

I  felt  myself  a-going  down,  and  then  with  maddened 
yelp 

I  called  to  some  one  on  the  shore  imploring  speedy  help. 

He  waved  his  hand  most  affably  and  said  he  wished  he 
might 

Do  something  that  would  help  me  in  my  most  distress 
ing  plight. 

"I'm  sorry,  friend,"  he  roared  to  me.     "I'd  help  you 
if  I  could, 

But  I'm  devoting  all  my  time  to  chopping  kindling-wood." 
And  that  is  how  it  came  to  be 
That  I  was  drownded  in  the  sea ! 
105 


PHYLLIS  AT  THE  CUSTOM  HOUSE 

SHE  vowed  she'd  nothing  to  declare, 
Altho'  some  forty  trunks  were  there, 
And  all  were  filled  with  objects  rare. 

The  Customs  men  pried  ope  the  trunks 
As  solemn  as  a  tribe  of  monks, 
And  things  came  out  in  solid  chunks. 

Tiaras,  necklaces,  and  crowns  ; 

A  baker's  dozen  Paris  gowns 

In  lovely  pinks,  and  blues,  and  browns. 

Furs  of  all  kinds  from  seals  to  cats ; 
Three  solid  hampers  filled  with  hats, 
All  held  in  place  by  wooden  slats. 

She'd  stockings  by  the  dozens  —  silk, 
And  open-work,  and  of  that  ilk, 
As  lacy  and  as  white  as  milk. 

And  gloves  —  of  gloves  I  sadly  fear 
She  had  enough  for  forty  year  — 
I  know  they  covered  half  the  pier. 
106 


Phyllis  at  the  Custom  House 

And  laces  —  my,  what  lace  they  found  ! 
'Twas  hardly  half  of  it  unwound 
Before  it  covered  all  around. 

And  lingerie  —  well,  I  don't  know 
Just  what  she  had,  but  this  is  so : 
The  pier  seemed  full  of  drifted  snow  ! 

And  so  it  went,  still  more  and  more. 
Those  trunks  revealed  a  wondrous  store 
Of  lovely  objects  by  the  score. 

And  she  as  cool  as  she  could  be 
Sat  there  and  dimpled  prettily 
At  the  Inspectors  and  at  me. 

A  picture  of  such  virtue  strong 
That  not  a  man  in  all  that  throng 
Believed  her  capable  of  wrong. 

"You  call  this  NOTHING,  Ma'am?"  they  said. 
She  smiled  and  bowed  her  pretty  head, 
As  free  as  Innocence  from  dread. 

"Of  course  I  do,"  she  made  reply. 

"They're  nothing"  —  here  she  winked  her  eye  — 

"  Compared  to  what  I  didn't  buy  !  " 

And  I'll  be  sworn,  for  it  is  true, 

THOSE  DAZED   INSPECTORS   LET  HER   THROUGH  ! 

107 


THE  CURRICULUM  OF  LOVE 

A  College  Professor  has  suggested  the  desirability  of  < 
tablishing  a  course  in  Love  Making  in  our  Universities. 

—  Daily  Newspaper. 

THEY'LL  doubtless  teach  the  maiden  wise 

How  best  to  use  her  sparkling  eyes, 

And  with  a  glance  flashed  through  the  dark 

Unerringly  to  hit  the  mark. 

They'll  teach  her,  natheless,  how  to  say 

Her  Lover  "No"  in  such  a  way 

That  he'll  discern  in  his  distress 

A  "No"  is  oft  a  form  of  "YES." 

They'll  take  a  maiden  free  of  guile 
And  teach  her  clearly  how  to  smile 
Flirtatiously,  yet  innocent 
Of  consequences  consequent. 
They'll  lecture  her  on  "Methods  Sure 
To  hold  a  Wavering  Swain  Secure," 
And  all  the  other  sundry  arts 
To  make  her  Bachelor  of  Hearts. 

As  for  the  lads,  they'll  teach  them  "Fine 
Points  of  the  Eternal  Feminine" ; 
They'll  show  them  how,  when  they  would  please, 
All  maidens  go  by  contraries ; 
108 


The  Curriculum  of  Love 

How  when  they  smile  on  other  men 
And  turn  from  one,  nine  times  in  ten 
That  one  they  love,  and  do  this  thing 
To  tie  him  to  their  apron-string. 

They'll  teach  them  signals  of  alarms. 
Just  when  and  where  to  "take  to  arms/ 
And  how  the  eye  that's  turned  away 
Means  "come  again  some  other  day"; 
How  tears  may  be  a  sign  of  joy, 
And  frowns  no  more  than  a  decoy ; 
And  when  great  crises  must  be  faced 
How  best  to  utilize  the  waist. 


109 


THE   DEEPER  NOTE 


THE  DEEPER  NOTE 

"  I  sing  of  brooks,  of  blossoms,  birds,  and  bowers." 

— HERRICK. 

To  sing  of  brooks,  of  blossoms,  birds,  and  trees, 

And  all  the  rare  things  of  the  summer-tide, 
When  joy's  a-wing  upon  the  playful  breeze, 

And  every  prospect's  smiling  as  a  bride  — 
Aye,  that  were  sweet !    All  worthy  themes  for  song. 

Each  speaks  the  bounty  of  a  lavish  earth  — 
The  blessings  rare  that  rightly  do  belong 

To  them  that  seek  the  treasuries  of  mirth. 

Yet  would  I  pause  the  while  and  seek  a  theme 

In  ways  less  smiling  than  the  country-side. 
In  far-off  scenes  of  stress  I  sometimes  seem 

To  find  a  voice  that  will  not  be  denied  — 
A  voice  that  mid  the  arid  scenes  of  woe 

Still  lifts  itself  on  high  in  notes  of  cheer 
Hath  for  my  soul  a  richer,  deeper  glow 

Than  happy  bird-notes  in  the  morning  clear. 

Who  sings  amid  the  joyous  fields  of  peace 

Where  all  is  sweet,  and  fresh,  and  lushly  green, 
But  gives  an  inward  happiness  release, 

And  adds  new  glories  to  a  gloried  scene ; 
But  he  whose  song  springs  forth  from  care  and  strife, 

Like  an  oasis  in  some  desert  plain, 
His  is  the  song  that  gives  the  hopeless  life, 

And  thrills  with  living  joy  the  heart  of  pain  ! 
i  113 


THE  ROSE 

THE  Rose  was  born, 
She  bloomed,  and  died. 

"A  lot  forlorn," 
Some  mortal  cried. 

"A  few  brief  days 

Of  life,  a  breath 
Like  summer  haze, 

And  thence  to  death  I" 

Ah  well,  that's  life  I 
Our  years  are  brief. 

Some  joy,  some  strife, 
And  then  relief. 

How  joyous  she, 

How  free  from  woes, 
To  live,  and  be, 

And  die,  a  Rose  I 


114 


IN  ABSENTIA 

ALONE  ?    Not  I,  indeed  !    Though  thou  art  gone, 
And  countless  leagues  between  our  paths  we  see, 
I'm  not,  and  never  shall  be,  quite  alone 
The  while  one  blissful  thought 

In  memory  caught 
Of  thee  abides  with  me. 

Mine  eye  still  holds  the  glory  of  thy  face. 
Remembered  smiles  my  solitude  rejoice, 
And  in  despite  the  ban  of  Time  and  Space 
Within  my  soul  I  hear, 

Still  ringing  clear, 
The  music  of  thy  voice  ! 


115 


THE  WAITING  INSTRUMENT 

I  BLAME  no  man  for  failure  here,  for  he 
Who  wins  no  crown  is  like  an  instrument 

That  silent  waits  the  Master's  touch  to  free 
The  noble  numbers  that  within  are  pent. 

Untouched  and  unawake,  and  still  it  stands, 
Despite  the  glorious  measures  it  contains  — 

Who  knows  but  that  in  those  diviner  lands 

Twill  swell  the  songs  of  Heaven  with  its  strains  ? 


116 


MIRACLES 

You  ask  for  miracles,  my  friend  ?    Ah,  well, 

Perhaps  your  eyes  are  blind  and  cannot  see. 
I  seek  them  too,  and  find  them,  truth  to  tell, 
Where'er  I  look,  in  sky,  on  hill,  in  dell, 
And  when  the  summer  weaves  its  magic  spell, 
The  Rose  alone's  a  miracle  to  me  ! 


117 


THE  DREAMER 

CHIDE  not  the  Dreamer,  but  more  wisely  hold 
His  dreams  more  precious  than  refined  gold. 
Had  men  not  dreamed  of  greater  things  to  be, 
Then  lesser  things  on  every  side  we'd  see. 

The  fancies  of  the  bygone  centuries 

Are  counted  'mongst  to-day's  realities 

And  form  the  firm  foundation  on  which  Youth 

Doth  surer  rear  the  edifice  of  Truth  ! 


118 


A  LOVE  SONG 

SPEAK  not  to  me  of  parting  here  — 

I  will  not  have  it  so  ! 
One  of  us  may  in  some  dread  year, 

Some  year  of  chill  and  snow, 
Pass  on,  but  part  ?    By  all  above, 

That  we  shall  never  do, 
For  you  are  all  myself,  my  Love, 

And  I  am  one  with  you  ! 

You  may  be  called  to  some  far  spot, 

On  some  blest  errand  bent, 
And  leave  me  here  to  moan  my  lot 

In  grievous  discontent, 
But  parted  ?    Never  !    Dire  defeat 

Dogs  those  who'd  make  us  two, 
For  you  are  all  myself,  my  Sweet, 

And  I  am  one  with  you  ! 

My  spirit  intertwines  with  yours, 

And  yours  is  woof  of  mine, 
And  long  as  Love  itself  endures 

'Twill  find  therein  a  shrine. 
No  earthly  chance  can  tear  apart, 

Nor  sever  tie  so  true, 
Whilst  you  are  all  myself,  my  Heart, 

And  I  am  one  with  you  ! 
<     119  ' 


TO  TIME 

"TURN  back,  O  Time  I"  the  aged  cry. 
"O  give  us  back  the  days  gone  by  I" 

"Haste  thee,  O  Time  !"  the  Youth  implores, 
"Fast  lead  me  on  to  Fortune's  doors  I" 

For  me,  dear  Time,  I  do  but  pray 
That  thou  wilt  linger  here  To-day  ! 


120 


BETTER  THAN  GOLD 

THE  Midas  touch  no  blessing  were 
To  him  who  loves  the  green 

That  'neath  the  silken  spring-time  air 
Lends  lustre  to  the  scene ; 

Who  loves  the  red  of  petalled  rose, 
The  hues  of  blossoms  glad ; 

The  beauty  of  the  garden  close 
In  vernal  colors  clad ; 

The  luscious  cherry  of  the  lips, 
And  pink  cheeks  of  a  maid, 

Whereon  the  lover  fondly  sips 
His  nectar  unafraid  ! 

Now  who  would  envy  Midas  much 

And  suffer  all  the  loss 
That  needs  must  follow  on  the  touch 

That  turns  these  sweets  to  dross  ? 


121 


AS  TO  YESTERDAY 

"  All  one  dark  yesterday."  —  American  Poet. 

"DAKK  yesterdays  ?"    Ah,  say  not  so  ! 
Our  yesterdays  have  faded  into  night, 

Yet  are  they  bright, 
And  in  the  memory  still  they  glow. 
The  voices  of  those  yesterdays 
Now  hushed  in  silence  still  resound 
In  echoing  roundelays 
That  in  the  heart  abound. 
The  youth  of  other  days  now  passed  to  age  — 
That  is  not  dead 
As  some  have  said, 
But  with  its  light  illumes  our  spirit  page. 

The  friends  of  yesterday,  no  more 
Beside  us  as  they  were  in  days  of  yore, 
Still  linger  here  in  spirit,  glorious, 

A  part  of  us, 
Held  safe  within  where  neither  grief  nor  pain 

Can  come  to  them  again. 
"Dark  yesterdays  ?"  call  them  not  so. 
Possessions,  rather,  full  of  light  are  they 
That  sorrow  cannot  touch,  and  woe 
Can  never  take  away  I 


122 


A  VISION  OF  LOSS 

HERE  in  the  midst  of  quiet  sylvan  scenes 

All  sweet  with  pine,  and  rich  with  lovely  greens, 

I  dreamed  last  night  a  splendid  City  grew  — 

Broad  boulevard,  and  gleaming  avenue ; 

And  towering  walls  of  stately  palaces 

Reared  their  proud  height.     Where  yonder  woodland  is 

A  shining  marble  Temple  lifted  high 

Its  massy  front  in  frigid  majesty. 

Where  lurks  the  keen-eyed  fox,  great  dwellings  stood, 

Wherein  were  housed  a  restless  multitude 

Of  busy  folk  engaged  in  gainful  toil, 

Their  haunted  eyes  all  hungering  for  spoil. 

The  music  of  the  countryside,  the  bird, 

The  lowing  of  the  kine,  no  more  was  heard, 

But  everywhere  the  rumble,  void  of  heart, 

Of  the  incessant  pressure  of  the  mart. 

Yon  silver  stream  that  flashes  in  its  flight 
Had  vanished  wholly  from  all  mortal  sight, 
And  passing  o'er  its  one-time  pebbly  bed 
Ran  iron  ways  that  bore  on,  overhead, 
Huge  steel-wrought  carriages,  filled  to  the  full 
With  travellers,  their  faces  tense  and  dull, 
To  beauty  blinded  in  their  daily  meed 
Of  toilsome  effort  and  of  selfish  deed. 

123 


A  Vision  of  Loss 

Yon  fair  expanse  of  lushly  fertile  fields 

Bore  naught  of  grain,  but  cold,  reluctant  yields 

Of  coined  gold,  and  lanes  where  Nature's  flowers 

Shed  fragrance  over  countless  elfin  bowers 

Were  bordered  now  with  rows  of  shops  that  thrust 

Their  wares  on  throngs  mad  with  the  money-lust ; 

And  all  the  quiet  of  these  vales  of  rest 

Gave  way  to  raucous  shriekings  of  the  quest. 

Alas  !    What  dismal  fate,  ye  scenes  divine  ! 
What  horrorific  transformation  thine  ! 
Must  Nature's  Temples,  void  of  strife  and  shame, 
Give  way  to  such  things  in  fair  Progress'  name  ? 
Is  it  thy  fate,  O  Woodland  of  my  Soul, 
To  prosper  thus,  and  thus  to  harbor  dole  ? 
My  heart  grew  heavy  with  a  sodden  pain, 
And  I  awoke,  and  all  was  peace  again. 


124 


AS  TO  OTHER  WORLDS 

WHATEVER  other  worlds  may  be, 

Wherever  be  those  realms  of  bliss, 
I  only  hope  that  those  I  see 

Will  turn  out  half  as  good  as  this. 
The  grass  cannot  be  greener  there, 

Nor  any  birds  that  sweeter  sing, 
Nor  can  there  be  a  silkier  air 

Than  that  which  comes  with  dawning  spring. 

Can  summer  breezes  softer  blow  ? 

Can  any  stars  wear  friendlier  mien  ? 
Hath  any  embers  richer  glow 

Than  those  that  on  my  hearth  are  seen  ? 
Are  flowers  sweeter  to  the  sense, 

Can  roses  tell  us  more  of  love, 
Or  dress  with  more  magnificence 

In  other  worlds  we  know  not  of  ? 

Nowhere  can  sunbeams  happier  play 

Than  on  this  blessed  earth  we  know ; 
And  even  when  the  days  are  gray, 

And  all  is  hid  in  drift  and  snow, 
What  rarer  joys  can  there  beguile, 

When  twilight  with  its  peace  hath  come, 
Than  that  unfailing  radiant  smile 

With  which  affection  calls  us  home  ? 
125 


MY  ALLIES 

THE  world  is  gray,  and  bleak,  and  drear. 
The  trees  are  reft  of  leaves,  and  stark 
Are  standing  yellow  in  the  sere, 
And  round  me  hover  spectres  dark  — 

But  what  care  I  ? 
Have  I  not  still  the  smiling  sky 
So  deeply  blue 

Of  hue, 
To  send  me  hope  from  up  on  high  ? 

My  cherished  plans  have  gone  astray, 

And  schemes  with  great  ambition  fraught 
Have  come  to  ruin  in  the  fray, 
And  left  me  weary  and  distraught  — 

And  yet  afar 

I  see  a  friendly  twinkling  star, 
That  lures  me  still 

With  will 
To  labor  where  life's  treasures  are  ! 


Give  me  the  blessed  stars,  and  skies, 
With  just  a  glimpse  of  sea  besides, 

Upon  whose  waves  the  sunlight  lies, 
And  fades  into  the  moonlit  tides  ! 
126 


My  Allies 

Then  shall  I  be 
Unmoved  by  what  Fate  holds  for  me 

Of  weal  or  woe, 

And  do 
The  task  that's  mine  exultantly  I 


127 

\ 


INSPIRATION 

GIVE  me  some  green  and  grassy  chair, 

A  boulder  for  my  table, 
And  let  the  silken  summer  air 

Sing  me  its  song  and  fable. 

I'll  bid  my  fancy  follow  free 

The  breeze's  inspiration, 
And  let  my  pen's  whole  effort  be 

From  Nature's  own  dictation. 


128 


ON  LINCOLN'S  BIRTHDAY 

A  DAY  of  joy,  a  holiday  I 

A  day  in  festal  colors  drest 
To  honor  one  who  knew  not  play, 

Nor  ever  tasted  rest ! 

O  Man  of  Sorrows,  and  of  Tears, 
Would  we  might  bring  to  you 

Back  through  the  pathway  of  dead  years 
One  touch  of  comfort  true  ! 

Would  that  your  eyes  might  penetrate 

The  shadows  in  between, 
Through  all  the  clouds  of  war  and  hate, 

And  mists  that  intervene, 

Into  the  hearts  of  all  the  throng 

Of  living  men,  to  find 
Your  name  and  fame  the  first  among 

The  treasures  of  mankind  ! 


129 


IN  JULY 

A  SUMMER  night,  a  summer  sea  — 
The  stars  all  twinkling  joyously ; 
A  cooling  breeze  that  wanders  by 
As  soft  as  some  poor  lover's  sigh ; 
A  flash  of  moth  athwart  the  light ; 
The  moon  a  marvel  to  the  sight ; 
A  touch  of  music  on  the  air, 
And  balmy  odors  everywhere 
To  tell  the  story  of  the  rose 
That  sleeps  in  yonder  garden-close ; 
And  at  my  side  the  Only  One 
Since  life  began,  till  life  is  done  — 
Were  all  the  world  at  hand  to  take 
I  would  not  from  this  dream  awake 


130 


THE  TASK 

THE  deed  that  I  would  do 

Involves  no  valor  of  the  sword, 
That  in  one  moment  mad  of  rue 

Should  earn  for  me  some  rich  reward, 
And  cause  posterity  to  rear, 

Where  an  admiring  world  might  see, 
To  pierce  the  upper  heavens  clear, 

A  bronze,  or  marble  shaft  to  me ; 
But  in  some  corner  of  some  squalid  way 

Where  misery  shall  lurk  to  fight, 
And  bring  the  sunshine  of  a  joyous  day 

To  dawn  on  souls  oppressed  by  night ; 

To  put  unhappiness  to  flight, 

And  start 

Some  hopeless  heart 

Upon  the  road  to  hope ;  or  where  distress 
Hath  dwelt,  by  acts  of  tenderness, 
And  words  of  courage,  helpfulness,  and  cheer, 

Drive  out  some  mortal's  fear, 

And  set  him  on  his  way  to  light ! 


131 


THE  FOUNT  OF  SONG 

Go,  Singer  !    Seek  the  woods  and  dales ; 

Seek  thou  the  mountain  heights,  the  vales ; 

List  to  the  music  of  the  breeze, 

The  songs  of  birds,  the  whispering  trees ; 

Breathe  in  the  silken  summer  air ; 

Take  in  the  essence  of  the  fair 

Deep  summer  skies  that  spread  above 

By  day,  and  seize  the  treasure-trove 

That  falls  from  those  eternal  heights 

On  starry  nights. 

The  language  of  the  flowers  learn ; 
The  fairies  seek  amid  the  fern ; 
Bid  all  the  brooks  that  woo  the  sea 
Unfold  their  secrets  unto  thee  — 
All  things  that  whisper  to  the  heart 
And  Nature's  messages  impart, 

Seize  thou,  and  then 

Take  up  thy  pen, 

And  weave  them  in  thy  song  alway 
And  thou  shalt  wear  the  everlasting  bay  ! 


132 


THE  POET 

THE  Poet  starved,  yet,  faithful  to  the  end, 
His  lines  held  food  for  brothers  in  despair, 

And  in  his  cheerless  attic  coign  he  penned 
The  lines  of  cheer  that  killed  another's  care  ! 


133 


IN  THE  MONTH  OF  FEBRUEER 

IN  the  month  of  Februeer 
Poets'  songs  are  sad  and  drear  — 

Biting  winds,  and  chilling  mists ; 

Life  is  seen  through  amethysts  — 
Darkly  purple  Februeer ! 

In  the  month  of  Februeer, 

In  the  yellow  and  the  sere, 
Singers  see  but  little  worth 
On  the  dark  and  dreary  earth  — 
Sombre  season  of  the  year. 

Poor  old  month  of  Februeer  ! 

How  they  love  to  gibe  and  jeer  — 
Those  who're  eager  and  alert 
For  the  things  that  sting  and  hurt  — 
Can't  deny  them,  Februeer  1 

Yet  I  love  thee,  Februeer. 

I  can  see  the  things  that  cheer  — 
Little  samples  of  the  spring, 
Hints  of  songs  the  birds  will  sing 

When  the  April  days  appear. 

In  the  meadow,  on  the  mere, 
Here  and  there  a  grassy  spear, 
134 


In  the  Month  of  Februeer 

Now  and  then  a  promise  of 
Coming  flowers  full  of  love  — 

In  these  days  of  Februeer. 

Only  needs  an  eye  and  ear 
With  the  wish  to  see  and  hear. 
What  we  seek  we  ever  find  — 
Sordid  things,  or  blessings  kind, 
In  the  month  of  Februeer  ! 


135 


WHEN  SPRING  DAYS  COME 

WHEN  spring  days  come  and  I  have  naught  to  do, 

I  love  to  rest  beneath  some  spreading  tree, 
And  gaze  aloft  into  the  dreamy  blue 
And  think  of  all  the  wonders  sweet  and  true 
A  gracious  Father  hath  prepared  for  me  — 
The  earth  all  fair  upon  whose  verdant  breast 

I  lie  at  rest ; 

The  freshness  of  the  morn,  the  joyous  birds, 
The  tuneful  lowing  of  the  distant  herds ; 

The  lovely  mysteries 

Of  budding  trees  ; 

The  dawning  beauties  of  the  garden-close, 
The  violet,  the  daffodill,  the  rose ; 
The  misty  hills  now  greening  in  the  sun ; 
The  twilight  lengthening  when  day  is  done  — 

These  gifts  divine 

All,  all  are  mine, 
To  take,  to  use,  and  fitly  to  enjoy, 

Whatever  may  annoy. 
Wherefore  in  spring  I  love  to  rest  and  brood 

On  gratitude ! 


136 


THE  LIGHTED  WAY 

LET  those  who  will  sound  notes  of  dull  despair, 

And  fill  with  lamentation  all  the  air  — 

For  me,  let  it  be  mine  alway  to  send 

The  cheery  note  of  Love,  unto  this  end  : 

That  they  who  on  some  path  of  darkness  grope 
May  find  their  way  to  Light  through  gleams  of  Hope. 


137 


THE  THIEF 

WHO  robs  me  of  my  purse  is  welcome  to  his  gain. 
Who  taketh  from  my  fame  doth  naught  to  cause  me  pain. 
Who  rifles  me  of  love  takes  naught  of  mine  away 
For  true  love  once  possessed  remains  secure  for  aye. 

Who  robs  me  of  my  name  need  fear  no  harm  from  me 
If  only  I  am  sure  of  my  integrity, 
But  he  who  steals  my  faith  —  ah,  he's  indeed  a  thief 
Who  robs  a  trusting  human  soul  of  its  Belief  ! 


138 


"THE  HYPOCRITIC  DAYS" 

"  Daughters  of  Time,  the  hypocritic  Days."  —  EMERSON. 

WHY  do  you  speak  of  "hypocritic  days"  ? 

Are  days  dissembling  then,  prone  to  deceit, 
And  given  o'er  to  falsely  cunning  ways 

That  threaten  mischief  when  they  seem  most  sweet  ? 

For  once,  my  best  loved  Poet,  do  you  seem 
To  me  to  stumble  in  your  path  of  light  — 

The  days  indulge  no  hypocritic  dream 
To  lure  mankind  from  peace  to  depths  of  night. 

Tis  we,  not  they,  who  make  them  what  they  are. 

They  come  to  us  of  guile  and  pretence  free : 
Clean,  clear,  and  spotless  on  the  calendar, 

God's  Messengers  of  Opportunity  ! 


139 


SIR  KINDLY-THOUGHT 

O  KINDLY-THOUGHT,  go  straightway  forth, 
Fly  East,  and  West,  and  South,  and  North. 

Cheer  downcast  hearts,  and  take  surcease 
To  troubled  souls  that  yearn  for  peace. 

Wax  great,  0  Kindly-Thought,  with  use  ! 
Be  Joy's  St.  George,  nor  call  a  truce 

In  battling  care  !    With  shaft  of  light 
Slay  thou  the  Dragon  of  the  Night ! 


140 


THE  POET'S  GRAVE 

"HERE  lies  a  Poet !"    Nay!    There  lies  a  stone 

Here  lies  perhaps  a  useless,  mortal  frame, 
An  inert  mass  of  weary  dust  and  bone 

That  once  hath  borne  a  glorious  singer's  name. 
But  he,  the  Poet,  lives,  nor  e'er  shall  pass 
From  out  the  joyous  and  imperishable  throng 
Of  those  who  put  the  love  of  lad  and  lass, 
The  grandeur  of  the  sea,  the  green  of  grass, 
The  voice  of  birds,  the  beauty  of  the  flowers, 
The  happiness  and  peace  of  quiet  hours, 
The  music  of  the  winter-wind,  the  thrill 
Of  spring-tide,  and  the  babbling  mountain  rill, 
The  glories  all  sublime  of  Motherhood, 

And  Brotherhood, 

The  joy  of  living,  and  the  heart  of  man 
Within  the  span 
Of  Godlike  song ! 


141 


A  FIRESIDE  FANCY 

THE  dancing  flames  as  from  the  logs  they  fly, 
And  upward  leap  as  though  to  seek  the  sky, 
Seem  like  the  souls  of  fallen  pines  to  me, 
Eager,  elate,  at  thought  of  being  free ; 
And  now  and  then  a  soft,  scarce-whispered  hiss 
That  greets  the  ear  suggests  a  parting  kiss  — 
Or  is't  the  sigh  of  one  who  at  the  last 
Recalls  some  blissful  moment  of  the  past  ? 


142 


THE  JOY  OF  LIVING 

DAME  Fortune  passed  him  by  with  sullen  frown, 
But  he,  with  joy  of  living  so  beguiled, 

Within  his  heart  was  not  at  all  cast  down, 
And  as  she  went  her  way  looked  on  and  smiled. 


143 


TRANSPLANTED 

0  SEND  me  some  soul  from  the  city  street 
To  plant  in  my  garden  fair, 

Some  poor  little  wight  with  his  weary  feet, 
His  rags  and  his  touselled  hair. 

1  will  plant  his  roots  in  the  moist  sweet  earth, 
I'll  bathe  him  in  soft  sunshine, 

I'll  water  his  leaves  with  innocent  mirth 
Out  here  in  this  close  of  mine. 

I'll  give  him  the  air  of  the  countryside, 

The  health  of  the  piney  hills ; 
The  rapturous  sweets  of  the  eventide, 

The  songs  of  the  birds  and  rills. 

And  he'll  blossom  forth  like  a  lovely  rose, 
In  beauty,  and  thought,  and  deed, 

Not  lost  in  the  city's  dark  whirl  of  woes, 
A  sad  little  human  weed  ! 


144 


THE  SOUTHRON  MESSENGER 

MR.  SOUTHWIND  came  a-soughing 

Gently  through  the  stark-limbed  trees  - 

Came  so  far  he  seemed  a-puffing, 
Slightly  shaky  in  his  knees ; 

But  a  pleasant  message  carried 
From  the  land  where  he  was  born, 

To  the  fields  by  winter  harried, 
In  the  Northland  all  forlorn. 

"All  your  friends  the  birds  send  greeting 
From  the  Southland,"  whispered  he. 

"Looking  forward  to  the  meeting 
That  will  very  shortly  be. 

"  And  the  hosts  of  fragrant  flowers 
Send  their  kindest  love,  and  say 

They  are  counting  up  the  hours 
Till  the  glad  home-coming  day." 

And  it  seemed  the  cold,  gray  meadows, 
And  the  sleeping  stark-limbed  trees, 

Brightened  mid  the  wintry  shadows 
At  the  Southwind's  messages. 
L  145 


MARCH 

COMETH  March  with  wind  and  rain ; 
Cometh  March  with  sun  and  shine ; 
Cometh  March  the  bold  again  — 
Weather  sombre ;  weather  fine. 

Here  a  bit  of  autumn  shows ; 
Here  a  bit  of  spring  appears ; 
Here  a  touch  of  summer-glows 
Drives  away  the  winter's  tears. 

What  is  March  ?    'Tis  neither  spring, 
Winter,  summer,  nor  the  fall. 
Singing  now,  now  murmuring. 
Little  touches  of  them  all. 

Bits  of  trouble,  bits  of  joy ; 
Days  of  peace  and  days  of  strife ; 
Frowning,  smiling,  pushing,  coy  — 
March,  epitome  of  life  ! 


146 


THE  ALTERNATIVE 

THIS  thing  of  brass  is  here ; 

These  things  of  stone  abide ; 
These  blocks  of  marble  rear 

Their  cold  and  sculptured  pride. 

These  things  of  wroughten  steel 

Of  centuries  long  dead, 
Their  presence  still  reveal 

Despite  the  ages  sped. 

Impassionate  and  still, 

Insensate  all  are  they ; 
Untouched  by  joy  or  ill, 

As  lifeless  mortal  clay. 

Durst  say  'tis  Nature's  plan 
That  these  shall  live  for  aye, 

The  while  the  Soul  of  Man 
Alone  shall  sink  and  die  ? 

The  Soul  of  Man  that  breathes, 
And  strives  with  Godlike  might ; 

The  Soul  that  loves,  and  wreathes 
The  world  in  bays  of  light  ? 

Durst  say  that  this  is  truth  ? 

Then  better  far  that  we 
Give  o'er  the  dreams  of  youth, 

And  stone  and  iron  be  ! 
147 


A  WOODLAND  EASTER 

Tis  Easter  morn,  a  day  of  loveliness. ' 

The  earth,  and  sky,  and  sea,  are  bright  of  mien. 

All  Nature  dons  its  fairest  gala  dress, 
And  everywhere  white  blossoms  deck  the  scene. 

The  birds  the  Easter  carols  blithely  sing. 

The  swelling  chorus  echoes  through  the  dells, 
And  with  her  joyous  message  dawning  spring 

The  story  of  the  Resurrection  tells. 

All  things  look  upward  to  the  heavens  high ; 

In  offerings  of  praise  each  bears  its  part, 
And  deep  within  my  woodland  dwelling  I 

Find  Easter  chimes  are  ringing  in  my  heart. 


148 


NATURE'S  COMFORTERS 

WHAT  though  my  plodding  pen  may  fail, 
And  all  my  lines  seem  poor,  and  pale  ? 
I  know  what's  in  my  heart  to  say, 
And  that  illumines  all  my  day ; 
And  in  the  wood  the  tall  pines  form 
An  audience  steadfast  and  warm ; 
And  as  my  halting  measures  rise 
The  breezes  answer  with  their  sighs ; 
The  birds  make  answer  to  my  song 
Despite  my  note  is  far  from  strong ; 
And  in  the  hills  an  Echo  free 
Repeats  my  measures  after  me  ! 


149 


THE  CATCH 

I'VE  enjoyed  the  chase  to-day 
Through  the  woodland  wild. 

Fortune  in  a  lavish  way 
Hath  my  heart  beguiled. 

I  have  filled  my  game-bag  well  — 

Better  than  I  thought. 
Fat  and  teeming  it  doth  swell 

With  the  things  I  sought. 

Songs  of  birds,  and  songs  of  trees. 
Gentle  whisperings  of  the  breeze. 
Splendid  mess  of  mountain  air. 
Odors  of  wild-flowers  rare. 
Happy  thoughts  that  grew  apace 
As  I  watched  the  rillets  race. 
Wondrous  pictures  in  the  skies. 
Vistas  soft  for  tired  eyes. 
Hints  of  peace,  and  hints  of  rest. 
Gorgeous  colors  in  the  west. 
Stores  of  gold  flung  far  and  wide 
O'er  the  gleaming  country-side, 
As  the  sun  smiled  on  the  scene, 
Lighting  up  the  forest  green. 

O  the  joy,  the  glad  delight, 

O  the  taste  of  bliss, 
Making  homeward  through  the  night 

With  a  catch  like  this  I 
150 


THE  SUNNY  SIDE 

LIFE  holds  no  woes  for  me  !    I  know  full  well, 

However  evil  things  may  seem  to  me  to-day, 
Some  future  joy  is  certain  to  dispel 

The  clouds  that  lower  darkly  on  my  way. 
And  I  have  noted  that  one  taste  of  bliss, 

E'en  though  'tis  but  a  taste,  hath  joyous  meed 
To  compensate  for  all  that  goes  amiss 

On  which  a  soul  in  sorrow  long  may  feed. 
No  night  e'er  was  whose  darkness  did  not  fade ; 

No  storm  e'er  raged  whose  course  was  not  soon  run ; 
And  so  my  soul,  by  troubles  undismayed, 

Doth  simply  wait  the  coming  of  the  sun. 


151 


THE  HERITAGE 

WHEN  so  a  heavy  rod  shall  rise  to  smite  me, 

And  sore  afflictions  come  to  sear  my  soul, 
When  complications  round  about  affright  me, 

And  clouds  of  sorrow  from  all  sides  uproll ; 
When  trial  waits  my  gaze  at  every  turning, 

And  chill  misunderstanding  greets  my  deed, 
And  spite  of  all  the  thirst  for  good  that's  burning 

Within  my  heart  finds  no  responsive  heed ; 

When  sturdy  friends  I've  counted  on  are  wanting ; 

When  enemies  rejoice  to  see  me  fall ; 
And  o'er  my  troubled  spirit  gray  the  haunting 

Fears  of  a  ruin  imminent  appall ; 
When  all  my  days  are  days  of  gloom  and  sadness, 

And  where  was  light  no  hint  of  light  appears ; 
When  every  hope  I  hold  to  seems  but  madness, 

And  they  who  used  to  praise  now  turn  to  sneers ; 

Still  in  my  breast  despite  its  load  of  sorrow, 

Despite  the  pressure  of  o'erwhelming  care, 
I  sense  the  thrilling  joy  of  a  to-morrow 

Whose  dawn  shall  lighten  up  the  darkness  there. 
I  sense  a  moment  nigh,  when,  woe  abating, 

I'll  tread  the  path  that  leads  on  to  release, 
And  find  a  cure  for  troubles  dire  awaiting 

Safe  in  the  everlasting  arms  of  Peace. 
152 


The  Heritage 

For  Life  and  Love  so  close  are  interweaving 

That  none  can  live  and  yet  be  portionless ; 
And  days  must  come  with  hours  all  retrieving 

The  dreary  years  of  unf ound  happiness ; 
And  he  whose  share  of  Love  is  not  yet  ready, 

Whose  measure  of  its  joy  is  yet  unknown, 
Need  only  keep  his  Faith  both  sure  and  steady 

To  come  sometime,  somewhere,  into  his  own  ! 


153 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  ROSE 

I  AM  the  Rose,  the  promise  of  the  spring 
That  winter's  frosty  chains,  so  withering, 
Cannot  avail,  whatever  their  power  be, 
To  hold  the  soul  for  aye  in  slavery. 

A  messenger  to  spirits  bowed  in  care, 
The  hopeless  and  oppressed,  am  I,  and  rare 
The  message  that  I  spread  throughout  the  land 
"Hold  fast  thy  Faith  !    Release  is  close  at  hand 

A  messenger  of  Love,  likewise,  am  I. 
I  hold  the  kiss  of  sun,  the  zephyr's  sigh ; 
The  loving  whisper  of  the  breeze  that  fills 
The  lonely  heart  with  life's  divinest  thrills  ! 

And  they  that  pass  along  the  thorny  way, 
Their  fortunes  fallen  on  an  evil  day, 
Despite  my  flaunting  pride,  they  call  me  good 
Because  my  friendly  nod  speaks  brotherhood  ! 

The  glowing  colors  of  the  dawn  are  mine. 

The  gloried  hues  of  sunset  all  combine 

To  clothe  me  in  a  vestiture  all  blent 

With  peace,  and  joy,  and  rapture,  and  content ! 

And  when  the  fragrance  of  my  presence  seeks 
The  spring  and  summer  air,  it  but  bespeaks 
The  meed  of  all,  in  sorrow  or  in  mirth, 
The  everlasting  sweetness  of  the  earth  I 
154 


THE  WEALTH  OF  THE  ROAD 

0  GIVE  me  for  treasure  no  gems  of  the  Ind, 
But  just  the  rich  gifts  of  the  sun  and  the  wind ; 
My  lungs  full  of  ozone,  my  soul  full  of  glee  — 
The  wealth  of  the  Road  is  the  treasure  for  me  ! 

Who  cares  for  the  gold,  for  the  bonds  and  the  stocks, 
Hid  deep  in  the  grip  of  some  steel-armored  box, 
When  out  on  the  highway  when  twilight  comes  by 
He  seizes  the  sunset  that  blazons  the  sky  ? 

What  riches  are  they  that  are  measured  by  pence 
And  wrung  from  a  toil  that  is  selfish  and  tense, 
Compared  to  the  wealth  of  a  soul  that  is  free 
And  roams  o'er  the  broad  open  highway  with  me  ? 

What  silver  of  dross  in  the  realm  of  the  mart, 
All  cold,  unresponsive  to  soul  or  to  heart, 
Can  give  to  the  spirit  of  man  such  a  thrill 
As  comes  from  the  silvery  song  of  the  rill  ? 

Mankind  to  the  full  of  my  powers  I'll  serve, 
But  seek  my  rewards,  not  in  shattering  nerve, 
With  gold  for  my  pay,  but  the  rich  stores  of  love 
That  stream  from  the  hand  of  my  God  up  above  ! 

The  gold  of  the  dawn  —  that  is  ever  mine  own  — 

1  spend  like  a  prodigal  set  on  a  throne, 

155 


The  Wealth  of  the  Road 

And  yet  when  'tis  spent,  all  the  greater  my  thrift  — 
One  gains  in  the  giving  of  this  blessed  gift ! 

For  music  the  birds,  and  the  whispering  breeze ; 
For  bed  some  soft  spot  where  the  pine  lures  to  ease ; 
For  comrades  God's  creatures  that  prank  everywhere ; 
For  books  the  rare  fancies  that  throb  in  the  air  ! 

And  'stead  of  rich  robes  made  of  fabric  so  gay 
That  men  in  their  winning  dare  death  on  the  way, 
Content  is  my  heart,  and  my  meed  is  delight, 
In  clothing  my  soul  in  the  mantle  of  night. 

Seek  ye,  if  ye  will,  the  cold  treasures  of  earth  — 
I'll  take  for  my  share  all  the  joy  and  the  mirth 
Of  freedom  that  comes  with  no  trials  to  goad 
To  him  who's  content  with  the  Wealth  of  the  Road  ! 


156 


HUMOR 

"Humor  dwells  with  sanity,  common  sense,  and  truth." 

—  BISHOP  BREWSTER. 

HUMOR  dwells  with  sanity, 

Truth,  and  common  sense. 
Humor  is  humanity, 

Sympathy  intense. 

Humor  always  laughs  with  you, 

Never  at  you ;  she 
Loves  the  fun  that's  sweet  and  true, 

And  of  malice  free. 

Humor  paints  the  flying  fad, 

Folly  of  the  day, 
As  it  is,  the  good  or  bad, 

In  a  kindly  way. 

There  behind  her  smiling  mien, 

In  her  twinkling  eyes, 
Purpose  true  is  ever  seen, 

Seriousness  lies. 

Hers  the  tender  mother-touch, 

Easing  all  distress ; 
Teaching  e'en  tho'  smiling  much ; 

Moulding  with  caress. 
157 


THE  LIGHT  OF  LIGHTS 

THE  City  lights  are  fair  to  see, 

And  seem  to  twinkle  merrily, 

To  tell  of  joyous  bits  of  life 

Amid  the  turmoil  and  the  strife. 

Like  myriad  stars  they  flash  and  gleam, 

A  never-ending  golden  stream, 

And  yet  for  all  their  mellow  glow 

They  cannot  gild  the  City's  woe. 

The  beacon  lights  upon  the  shore 
Shine  brightly  all  the  waters  o'er, 
And  guide  the  sailor  on  the  sea 
Into  the  port  where  he  would  be. 
Yet  as  they  flash  across  the  night, 
Despite  their  gleaming,  golden  bright, 
They  call  me  not,  but  bid  me  veer 
My  course  from  dangers  lurking  near  ! 

The  stars  of  Heaven  brightly  shine 
Athwart  the  blue,  so  vast,  divine, 
And  whisper  of  great  mysteries 
In  realms  man's  vision  never  sees. 
They  stir  the  soul,  and  yet  I  find 
No  messages  of  any  kind 
That  lodgment  win  within  the  heart, 
So  far  are  they  and  I  apart ! 
158 


The  Light  of  Lights 

But  there's  a  light  on  yonder  hill 
That  killeth  care,  and  driveth  ill, 
And  haunting  fear,  whatever  it  be, 
Forth  from  this  human  heart  of  me  — 
The  light  seen  through  the  window-pane 
That  welcomes  me  back  home  again, 
Where  there  is  one  who  bids  me  share 
The  joys  of  love  abiding  there  ! 

Ah,  Light  of  Home  !    When  day  is  done, 
And  the  rest  hour  hath  begun, 
Of  all  the  lights  of  land  or  sea 
Thou  art  the  fairest  light  to  me  ! 
Dim  tho'  thou  art,  still  is  thy  gold 
The  richest  treasure  life  doth  hold  — 
It  glorifies  the  blackest  zone, 
And  bids  the  heart  come  to  its  own  ! 


159 


AS  TO  FEAR 

WHEN  I'm  afloat  in  a  cockle-shell, 
Confronted  by  the  raging  swell 

Of  ocean  in  a  roaring  gale, 
If  I'm  alone  I  have  no  fear 
Of  what  awaits,  in  woe  or  cheer, 

If  into  port  or  not  I  sail. 

Tis  good  to  match  the  might  of  me 
Against  the  raging  of  the  sea, 

Whatever  be  the  ultimate ; 
Within  my  heart  and  soul  to  find 
To  fight  the  wiles  of  tide  and  wind 

A  courage  eager  and  elate. 

Mine  is  the  loss  if  loss  comes  by  ! 
Mine  is  the  bliss  of  Victory  ! 

Mine  is  the  woe,  and  mine  the  gain  ! 
Mine  is  the  joy  that  comes  apace 
To  victors  in  the  stormy  race  — 

If  conquered  mine  is  all  the  pain  ! 

But  when  another  sitteth  near, 

JTis  then  my  heart  grows  chill  with  fear, 

And  dangers  looming  high  appall. 
The  waves  with  overwhelming  height 
Seem  dreadful  in  their  awful  might, 

As  round  about  they  rise  and  fall. 
160 


As  to  Fear 

And  tremblingly  I  run  my  race, 
With  frenzied  heart,  and  pallid  face, 

And  darkling  terror  is  my  meed  — 
Not  that  I  fear  the  raging  sea, 
But  lest  a  perfect  Faith  in  me 

Shall  find  me  wanting  in  the  deed  ! 


161 


THE  EVER  YOUNG 

HE  was  a  mighty  pleasant  sight, 

This  aged,  snowy-headed  wight, 

Who  though  his  knees  were  badly  sprung 

At  seventy  was  still  so  young 

That  in  his  heart  still  rang  the  lays 

He  sang  back  in  his  boyhood  days. 

His  step  was  slow,  and  insecure. 
His  sight  was  not  completely  sure, 
Yet  from  his  eyes  a  soul  looked  out 
He'd  ever  kept  so  free  from  doubt 
That  it  was  matter  small  to  him 

To  find  his  vision  growing  dim. 
0 

He'd  made  a  vow  back  in  his  youth 
That  come  what  would  of  joy  or  ruth, 
That  come  what  would  of  peace  or  pain, 
Of  days  all  bright,  of  hours  of  rain, 
He'd  use  his  heart  to  store  away 
One  bit  of  sunshine  every  day. 

This  vow  he  kept,  and  year  by  year 
He  added  to  his  stock  of  cheer, 
And  strange  to  say,  though  it  is  true, 
Each  stored-up  sun-ray  doubly  grew 
Until  to-day  his  stores  of  pelf 
Are  rivals  to  the  sun  itself. 
162 


The  Ever  Young 

Ah,  dear  old  friend  !    What  joy  to  see 
A  wight  whose  score  is  seventy, 
Deep  in  the  winter  of  his  life, 
So  full  of  light,  so  free  from  strife, 
That  in  his  presence  there  doth  ring 
The  notes  of  everlasting  spring  ! 


163 


PLODDIN'  ALONG 

WORKIN'  ahead,  jest  a-ploddin'  along, 
Payin'  no  heed  to  the  buffet  and  blow ; 

Heart  in  my  labor,  and  soul  in  my  song, 
Doin'  the  best  thet  I  can  as  I  go. 

Never  quite  satisfied,  allers  serene. 

Tryin'  to  make  each  to-day  a  success. 
Hopin'  to  win  for  my  laurel  the  green 

Given  by  some  one  I've  helped  in  his  stress. 

Hopin'  to  win  not  illustrious  fame 
Echoin'  down  to  the  uttermost  year, 

But  in  the  heart  of  my  neighbor  a  name 
Cherished,  beloved,  because  of  its  cheer. 

Workin'  ahead,  jest  a-ploddin'  along. 

Careless  o'  critics,  abidin'  the  test. 
Fearin'  perhaps,  but  a-hopin'  my  song 

Allers  '11  show  me  a-doin'  my  best ! 


164 


THE  GREENER  BAY 

HE  dipped  his  pen  in  golden  light, 
And  wrote  what  lay  within  his  heart, 

His  eyes  averted  from  the  night, 
And  never  paused  to  think  of  art. 

He  missed  the  laurel  of  renown ; 

He  failed  to  win  the  highest  goal, 
Yet  on  his  brow  he  wears  the  crown 

That  comes  to  him  who  saves  a  soul. 

For  one  all  heedless  of  his  form, 
Sunk  in  the  depths  of  grim  despair, 

Found  in  his  lines  a  message  warm 
That  led  to  Peace  from  realms  of  Care  ! 


165 


THE  JOYS  OF  RHYME 

HOWEVER  dark  the  night, 
Night  rhymes  with  light ! 

Despite  the  clouded  sun 
Sun  rhymes  with  fun  ! 

However  sharp  the  dart 
Dart  rhymes  with  heart ! 

However  drab  the  scene 
Scene  rhymes  with  green  ! 

Despite  the  wintry  day 
Day  rhymes  with  May  ! 

However  great  my  fear 
Fear  rhymes  with  cheer  ! 

However  harsh  the  wrong 
Wrong  rhymes  with  song  ! 

However  far  the  goal 
Goal  rhymes  with  soul ! 

Despite  the  killing  pace 
Pace  rhymes  with  grace  ! 
166 


The  Joys  of  Rhyme 

However  chill  the  storm 
Storm  rhymes  with  warm  1 

However  hard  the  strife 
Strife  rhymes  with  Life  ! 


167 


THE  SEEING  EYE 

SMALL  things  and  humble  greatest  lessons  hold, 
Which  to  the  seeing  eye  they  soon  unfold  — 
As  on  some  thorny  road  my  way  I  pass 
I  get  new  courage  from  a  blade  of  grass, 
Which  'mid  the  turmoil  and  the  weeds  that  kill 
Holds  fearlessly  its  course  appointed  still. 


168 


THE  GATEWAY 

DEATH  somehow  doth  not  seem  to  be  a  thing 

To  me  of  terror  and  of  shuddering, 

But  just  a  gateway  opening  upon 

New  fields,  new  scenes,  and  new  ideas  anon  — 
Or  if  'tis  not,  who  holds  it  blessing  cheap 
To  lie  at  rest  in  peaceful,  dreamless,  sleep  ? 


169 


THE  CROWN  OF  WASHINGTON 

HE  loved  his  trees,  his  flowers,  and  the  yields 
Of  lush  green  meadows,  and  the  harvest  fields. 
The  soul  within  him  yearned  for  paths  of  peace. 
His  prayer  was  ever  that  grim  war  might  cease, 
That  back  once  more,  there  in  his  vernal  bowers, 
He  might  enjoy  the  rest  of  tranquil  hours, 
And  train  his  vines,  and  till  his  fertile  lands 

With  his  own  hands ; 

That  where  the  tocsin  sounded  there  might  swell 
The  mellow  chimes  of  some  cathedral  bell 

To  summon  man  from  toil. 

For  warlike  spoil 

He  had  no  temper,  yet  at  Duty's  call 
Wife,  home,  and  flowers,  peace  and  comfort,  all 
He  sadly  left  lest  Honor  be  undone, 
Nor  e'er  knew  rest  again  !    O  Washington, 
No  crown  of  gold  alight  with  jewelled  sheen 
Adorns  thy  brow,  but  one  as  fresh  and  green 
As  were  the  scenes  you  loved  —  the  laurel  leaf, 
The  diadem  of  our  Unselfish  Chief  1 


170 


THE  BLESSED  BLIND 

THEY  say  that  Love,  poor  little  Love,  is  blind. 

'Twas  Milton's  fate  to  be  likewise,  and  he 
Deep  in  his  soul  the  stores  of  wealth  divined 

That  crowned  his  brow  with  Immortality. 

So  Love,  of  sight  bereft,  with  eyes  of  Soul 
Still  wends  his  way,  and  serves  his  Godlike  part, 

And  age  on  age  leads  mortals  to  the  goal 
Where  lie  the  richest  treasures  of  the  heart ! 


171 


TO  MARK  TWAIN 

On  His  Seventieth  Birthday 

HERE'S  to  the  Prince  of  Wits  ! 
Here's  to  his  Seventy  Years  ! 
Time,  the  fugacious,  flits 
Over  this  vale  of  tears, 
Yet  never  a  mark  leaves  in  its  train 
To  dimmer  the  loyal  love  for  Twain 
In  the  warp  and  woof  of  the  hearts  of  those 

Whose  sorrows  and  woes, 

Whose  trials  and  pain, 
Have  vanished  like  smoke  into  thinnest  air 
'Neath  the  magic  touch  of  his  genius  rare  ! 

God  give  him  power 

For  every  hour 
Of  peace  he  has  brought  where  storm-clouds  lower 

God  give  him  a  day 

For  every  ray 
Of  light  he  has  shed  on  sorrow's  way  ! 

God  give  him  a  year 

For  every  fear 

His  blithesome  spirit  has  turned  to  cheer, 
And  his  Seventy  Years  will  straightway  be 
But  the  end  of  a  promising  infancy ! 


172 


THE  AFFINITIES 

I  KNOW,  my  Heart,  that  in  some  far-off  age 

Before  this  world  sprang  from  chaotic  strife 
Both  you  and  I,  on  some  primeval  stage, 

Together  faced  the  woes  and  joys  of  life. 
Not  two,  but  one,  were  we  back  there  in  space 

When  You  were  I,  and  I  was  You,  in  truth, 
Through  chaos  rushing  in  the  seething  race 

In  union  blest  as  now  are  Love  and  Youth  ! 

I  know  it  as  I  know  on  this  rare  night 

That  yonder  stars,  that  coruscate  on  high, 
Are  fair  to  see,  and  with  their  golden  light 

The  arching  vault  of  heaven  glorify. 
I  know  it  as  I  know  that  love  is  sweet. 

'Tis  sure  to  me  as  that  the  sun  will  rise 
And  on  the  morrow  once  again  will  greet 

The  dawning  day  with  hints  of  Paradise  ! 

I  knew  it  when  first  on  this  joyous  earth 

We  met,  and  felt  again  the  wondrous  thrill 
With  which  Love  weaves  the  moment  of  rebirth 

Of  something  lost  in  far-off  days  of  ill. 
'Twas  like  a  coming  home  to  one  whose  days 

In  wandering  and  weariness  were  spent, 
To  find  amid  the  once  accustomed  ways 

A  perfect  bliss,  and  unalloyed  content. 
173 


TO  THE  MUSE  IN  AUTUMN 

AWAKE,  O  Muse,  from  this  dull  lethargy 

Of  doleful  thoughts  to  sweet  reality  ! 

The  Autumn  spells  not  death  as  thou  dost  say ; 

'Tis  not  the  harbinger  of  drear  dismay, 

Forebodings  dark,  reflections  dire  and  sad, 

But  fitting  time  for  themes  all  gay  and  glad  ! 

'Tis  twilight  of  the  year,  the  eventide  — 

The  time  for  hearth-stones,  genial  and  wide ; 

The  time  when  blazing  logs  begin  to  weave 

Their  wondrous  spells  for  weary  ones  at  eve, 

When  at  the  earlier  setting  of  the  sun, 

They  pause  at  last  from  labors  nobly  done ; 

Refreshment  time  that  fitly  leads  us  on 

To  dreamy  hours  of  rest  that  come  anon. 

Awake  !    Be  glad  !     Give  doleful  thoughts  surcease, 

And  sing  the  Joys  of  Twilight  and  of  Peace  ! 


174 


GUI  BONO? 

SUCH  wondrous  Faith  in  my  own  powers  have  I 

That  I  can  move  a  mountain  if  I  choose. 
But  that's  a  task  I  don't  intend  to  try. 
I  love  to  have  the  mountain  standing  by, 
With  paths  to  lead  me  nearer  to  the  sky  — 
So  what's  the  use  ? 


175 


SHAKESPEARE'S  BIRTHDAY 

TO-DAY  was  Shakespeare  born  ! 
Upon  a  day  like  this  it  must  have  been : 

A  golden  morn, 
Fields  decked  in  vernal  green ; 
The  birds  full-throated  sound  their  songs  of  glee 
And  with  one  voice 

Rejoice ; 
A  wondrous  glory  rests  upon  the  sea, 

The  whiles 

The  heavens  are  all  smiles, 
And  earth  doth  wear 
A  jocund  air, 

And  all  is  glad  and  gay  — 
The  Muses'  greatest  son  was  born  to-day  ! 


176 


AS  TO  THE  LAW 

WHAT  volumes  of  immensity 

To  hold  Man's  Statutes  do  we  see  ! 

A  never-ending  list  of  Musts 

To  curb  our  universal  lusts  1 

And  Shalts  and  Shalt  Nots,  tiers  on  tiers, 

As  endless  as  the  eternal  years  ! 

So  fraught  are  these  with  tricksy  phrase, 
In  warp  and  woof  so  shot  with  haze 
On  every  side  are  Sages  seen 
Perplexed  to  tell  us  what  they  mean  — 
Each  Hall  of  Justice  is  a  hive 
Of  bees  that  on  Contention  thrive. 

What  woeful  work  is  thine,  O  Man, 

To  weave  so  vast  a  legal  span 

To  bridge  the  troubles  that  intrude  ! 

What  impudent  ineptitude, 

When  God,  who  knew  the  needs  of  Men, 

Put  all  His  Law  in  Statutes  Ten  ! 


177 


'TWIXT  FACT  AND  FANCY 

OFTTIMES  as  through  some  forest  glade 

My  step  hath  strayed, 
And  I  observe  the  beauties  of  the  scene : 

The  bowers  soft  and  green, 
Wherein  some  elfin  band  perchance  hath  played ; 
Or  where  the  wood-nymphs  dwell, 
And  weave  their  fairy-spell ; 
While  here  and  there  a  glint  of  sun  shines  down, 
And  penetrates  its  leafy  crown, 
And  from  the  upper  hills, 
The  music  of  the  rills, 
Entrancing,  clear, 
Enchant  the  ear, 

I  wonder  where,  deep-hid  from  mortal  eyes, 
The  fine-spun  line  'twixt  fact  and  fancy  lies  ? 


178 


MUSIC 

WHEN  things  go  wrong 
I  find  it  helps  along 
To  pause  and  sing  some  pleasant  little  song. 

When  things  go  right 
It  adds  to  my  delight 
Again  to  give  those  tuneful  measures  flight. 

Sunshine,  or  rain, 
Tis  Music's  mission  plain 
To  add  to  joy  and  take  away  from  pain  I 


179 


THANKSGIVING  DAY 

FOR  all  the  gracious  gifts  in  harvests  fair 
In  things  material  whose  goodly  share 

I  richly  prize ; 

For  man's  abundant  wealth  that  lies  in  sight, 
And  for  the  sense  of  power  and  of  might 
With  which  to  meet  my  foe,  and  fight  the  fight, 

My  thanks  arise. 


But  for  the  richer  gifts  of  Love  and  Peace 
That  bring  the  soul  a  sense  of  sweet  release 

From  pressing  care ; 

For  mercies  shown ;  for  greater  growth  of  soul ; 
For  light  when  clouds  of  deadly  dark  uproll 
To  point  the  way  to  some  more  lofty  goal, 

And  lead  us  there ; 


For  broader  human  sympathy ;  for  tears 
Of  Brotherhood  to  ease  another's  fears, 

And  cheer  his  way ; 

For  seeing  eyes ;  and  shoulders  fit  to  bear 
The  burdens  of  our  fellows  in  despair, 
And  right  good  will  to  help  them  in  their  care 

When  times  are  gray ; 
180 


Thanksgiving  Day 

For  men  of  heart  and  soul  inclined 
To  honors  of  a  lowlier,  meeker  kind, 

With  grace  endued ; 
Who  seek  all  dire  injustices  to  mend, 
To  guide  the  hopeless  to  some  hopeful  end, 
Not  this  alone,  but  all  my  days,  I  spend 

In  gratitude ! 


181 


SERVICE 

To  serve  another's  WILL  — 

That's  not  for  me  ! 
My  heart  is  not  athrill 

For  slavery. 

To  serve  another's  NEED 

Right  heartily, 
In  thought,  and  word,  and  deed 

That's  liberty  1 


182 


JOY  SHARING 

WITH  all  the  joys  that  everywhere  abound, 
In  earth,  in  sky,  on  sea,  in  vibrant  air, 

Where  God's  great  gifts  are  in  abundance  found, 
What  pity  'tis  all  men  have  not  their  share  ! 

God  grant  that  'mid  these  gifts  that  fall  to  me, 
In  all  the  plenteous  stores  that  on  me  press, 

May  come  an  eye  my  Brother's  lack  to  see 
And  will  to  share  with  him  my  plenteousness  ! 


183 


REPAYMENT 

April  4th,  1913. 

MY  son,  who's  twenty-five  years  old  to-day, 
Hath  not  forgot  his  old-time,  boyish  way 
Whene'er  we  meet,  despite  his  mannish  pride, 
Of  snuggling  down  contented  at  my  side. 
He  kisses  me  with  an  affection  true 
Just  as  in  childhood  he  was  wont  to  do ; 
And  as  he  gained  in  days  that  used  to  be 
A  blessed  sense  of  his  security, 
And  felt  himself  protected  from  all  harms 

Within  his  Father's  arms, 
So  I  by  his  caress  with  strength  endued 
Find  my  own  confidence  in  self  renewed, 
And  go  forth  stronger  for  what  lies  ahead, 
Be  it  of  good,  or  be  it  aught  of  dread. 
I  gave  him  of  my  Manhood ;  he,  in  truth, 
Now  in  my  Age  repays  the  gift  in  Youth  ! 


184 


MY  CREED 

IN  building  up  my  Creed 

To  help  me  in  my  trials 
The  things  that  most  I  heed 

Are  not  the  vain  denials 
That  occupy  the  mind 

Of  Critics  most  devout, 
Negations  of  a  kind 

That  do  but  strengthen  Doubt. 

But  rather  Truths  that  rise 

Whatever  clouds  uproll, 
Eternal  as  the  skies, 

To  satisfy  the  Soul  — 
The  Affirmations  of 

A  God  in  all  I  see, 
Whose  never-failing  Love 

Commands  my  fealty. 


185 


THE  SUMMONS 

Now  come  the  Christmas  chimes  to  summon  me 

From  sluggish  ease  and  cynic  thoughts  of  doubt 
To  deeds  of  kindly  Opportunity 

That  on  all  sides  of  us  now  lie  about ; 
To  spread  the  Gospel  of  Good  Will  to  all, 

To  sing  the  songs  of  Peace  upon  the  mart, 
And  fill  with  spirit  of  high  festival 

To  overflowing  every  human  heart. 

To  carry  hope  to  hopeless  ones,  and  ease 

The  sufferings  of  grievous  helplessness ; 
To  carry  joy  to  those  whose  miseries 

Have  plunged  them  in  a  maelstrom  of  distress ; 
To  lavish  Light  on  Darkness,  drying  tears ; 

To  enter  into  homes  of  them  that  grieve, 
And  with  the  touch  of  sympathy  the  fears 

Of  brothers  in  affliction  dread  relieve. 

That  is  the  song  those  Christmas  chimes  ring  forth  ! 

That  is  the  summons  sent  to  those  who  hear, 
Borne  on  the  crispy  air  from  out  the  north 

Upon  this  morn  so  thrilling  in  its  cheer. 
Let  him  who  hath  of  his  possessions  spend 

Not  stores  of  gold,  but  Love  in  fullest  play  — 
He  wins  the  greatest  treasure  in  the  end 

Who  Lives  as  well  as  Gives  his  Christmas  Day ! 
186 


GETTYSBURG  FIFTY  YEARS  AFTER 


JTis  fifty  years,  my  Brother,  since  on  that  fatal  day, 
'Confronting  one  another  in  grim  war's  dread  array, 

The  Gray  and  Blue  with  courage  true 

Met  on  this  field  for  deeds  of  rue, 
To  slaughter  and  to  slay  ! 

Hate  filled  our  eyes  then,  Brother,  and  rage  enthralled 

each  heart  — 

A  rage  that  naught  could  smother,  and  drove  us  mad, 
apart. 

Each  fought  for  right  as  right  he  knew, 
fAnd  as  we  fought  our  madness  grew, 
And  poisoned  every  dart. 

Blood-lust  was  on  us,  Brother.    We  writhed  beneath  its 

spell, 

And  sons  of  the  same  mother  beneath  its  madness  fell. 
We  maimed,  and  lamed,  and  blindly  slew  — 
Each  did  the  deed  he  had  to  do 
Nor  knew  that  it  was  Hell ! 

The  skies  grew  lurid  overhead, 

As  shot  and  shell  with  carnage  dread 

187 


Gettysburg  Fifty  Years  After 

Their  sanguinary  horrors  spread, 
And  scarlet  grew  the  meadows  green, 
And  great  streams  babbled  o'er  the  scene, 

And  every  stream  was  red  ! 


ii 


To-day  we  meet  again,  Brother,  upon  that  self-same 

field. 

Forgot  is  every  pain,  Brother,  in  newborn  Love  re 
vealed. 

The  Blue  and  Gray,  in  glad  array, 
Stand  face  to  face  as  on  that  day, 
And  every  wound  is  healed  ! 

The  madness  of  the  fray,  Brother,  the  blindness  of  the 

fight, 

Like  to  that  dreadful  day,  Brother,  have  faded  in  the 
night, 

And  hand  in  hand  the  Spirit  band 
As  well  as  we  together  stand, 
Together  face  the  Light ! 

E'en  as  the  blood  we  shed,  Brother,  the  blood  of  warriors 

true 

In  one  stream  mingled  red,  Brother,  and  sped  thence  to 
the  blue, 

All  blent  in  blessed  unity, 
So  in  a  Union  blest  run  we 
To  face  what  weVe  to  do  ! 
188 


Gettysburg  Fifty  Years  After 


in 


Gone  is  the  rage  that  filled  our  hearts. 

Gone  is  the  hate  that  dulled  our  eyes, 
And  here  where  flew  envenomed  darts 

The  Palm  of  Peace  Fraternal  lies. 
Where  Brother  once  his  Brother  slew, 

And  grim  war  dimmed  the  skies  above, 
Once  more  we  come,  the  Gray,  the  Blue, 

To  hold  a  Festival  of  Love  I 


189 


PROFIT  AND  LOSS 

HERE  are  the  treasures  I  have  won : 

A  sense  of  Duty  sometimes  done ; 

A  pleasing  taste  of  present  fame ; 

The  goodly  solace  of  a  name 

That  men  speak  well  of  here  and  there ; 

And  gold  enough  to  banish  care ; 

A  place  in  the  community 

Wherein  my  neighbors  speak  of  me 

As  one  who's  made  use  of  his  days 

In  doing  good  in  divers  ways ; 

Who  has  not  wasted  fleeting  hours, 

Nor  idly  spent  his  stock  of  powers 

On  things  of  trivial  intent ; 

A  retrospect  of  shadows  blent 

With  many  a  vista  flashed  with  gold, 

In  which  rare  scenes  of  bliss  unfold 

And  turn  to  jewels  e'en  the  tears 

That  dimmed  the  eyes  in  yesteryears. 

The  cost  has  been  the  loss  of  skies 
That  promised  many  a  noble  prize ; 
The  loss  of  spring-time  in  the  heart, 
Of  Youth  the  all-essential  part ; 
The  loss  of  eagerness  to  meet 
The  unknown  perils  of  the  street ; 
190 


Profit  and  Loss 

The  dimming  of  Ambition's  light ; 
A  greater  sense  of  coming  night ; 
The  loss  of  thrilled  expectancy 
When  thinking  on  what  is  to  be ; 
On  what  to-morrow  holds  in  store 
Upon  its  dark  untrodden  shore ; 
The  loss  of  dreams  of  deeds  to  do ; 
The  love  of  all  things  strange  and  new 
All  these  possessions  rare  are  lost, 
Forever  gone  to  swell  the  cost 
Of  life  and  all  the  hard-won  bays 
That  crown  me  in  my  latter  days. 


The  balance  ?    Strike  it  if  you  will. 
Find  it  of  good,  or  find  it  ill  — 
I  vex  me  not  with  balances 
To  see  if  loss  or  profit  is. 
IVe  joyed  in  joys,  and  grieved  in  tears. 
The  light  and  shadow  of  the  years 
Have  kept  me  ever  in  their  reach, 
As  night  and  day  each  follows  each. 
Great  happiness  and  woes  have  come, 
Like  summers  fair  and  winters  numb. 
Great  peace  has  filled  my  soul,  and  strife 
Has  had  its  portion  of  my  life, 
And  as  I  draw  nigh  to  the  end, 
And  think  of  enemy  and  friend, 
Of  helpmate  fair,  of  bliss  and  grief, 
Of  flowers  dead,  and  buds  in  leaf, 
191 


Profit  and  Loss 

Of  troubles,  trials,  blessings,  gifts ; 
Of  plans,  ambitions,  failures,  shifts, 
I  would  not  cast  the  balance  up 
If  sweet  or  bitter  be  the  cup, 
But  am  content,  whate'er  befall  — 
I'm  grateful  to  have  lived  at  all ! 


192 


ON  A  RAINY  DAY  IN  A  LIBRARY 

WHEN  falls  the  gentle  summer  rain, 

And  caution  bids  us  stay  within, 
I  vex  me  not  with  thoughts  of  pain 

That  I  may  not  the  hillsides  win ; 
That  I  may  not  the  country  roam 

At  will,  and  speed  o'er  hill  and  dale, 
But  rest  contentedly  at  home 

With  stores  of  wealth  that  never  fail. 

A  miner  I  become,  and  here 

Surrounded  by  vast  lodes  of  thought, 
Great  messages  in  woe  or  cheer 

From  out  recesses  hid  are  brought  — 
A  nugget  now  of  Wisdom's  gold 

From  Sages  past  perhaps  I  find, 
Or  possibly  some  ledge  will  hold 

Soul-metal  of  some  rarer  kind. 

Would  I  commune  with  lyric  bird 

In  glowing  ecstasies  of  song  ? 
Here  are  the  Poets'  numbers  heard 

That  to  the  heavenly  choir  belong. 
The  songs  that  tell  of  youthful  dreams ; 

The  songs  that  sing  undying  love, 
And  through  the  cloud-rifts  grant  us  gleams 

Of  our  immortal  treasure-trove 

o  193 


On  a  Rainy  Day  in  a  Library 

Or  do  I  seek  adventure  swift, 

Some  knightly  deed  of  prowess  rare, 
Mine  eye  to  otherward  I  shift  j 

And  that  I  seek  awaits  me  there  — 
The  heroes  of  a  doughty  age, 

Greece,  Rome,  or  mediaeval  France, 
Wait  on  the  turning  of  some  page 

In  tourney  bold,  or  courtly  dance. 

Their  loves,  their  hates,  I  share  them  both. 

In  perils  I  am  at  their  side. 
When  war's  afoot  I'm  nothing  loath 

To  mount  and  forth  to  battle  ride ; 
And  when  some  feat  of  arms  is  done 

By  Cavalier  for  Ladye  Fayre, 
The  smiling  prizes  nobly  won 

Are  mine  as  well  as  his  to  share. 


On  enterprise  of  pirate  sort, 

Again,  I  freely  may  embark, 
Nor  later  fear  the  ill-report 

That  follows  bloody  deeds  and  dark ; 
But  fearless  of  all  consequence 

To  life,  or  limb,  or  good-repute, 
I  join  in  the  incontinence 

Of  shambles  for  the  sake  of  loot. 

Or  be  my  mood  of  nobler  cast, 

And  wider,  stranger  worlds  my  quest, 
194 


On  a  Rainy  Day  in  a  Library 

Before,  or  eke  behind,  some  mast 
I  seek  discovery  with  the  best  — 

Columbus,  Ponce,  De  Soto  —  all 
The  heroes  of  a  valiant  mould 

Within  some  cover  wait  my  call 
To  do  again  the  deeds  of  old. 

Or  best  of  all,  if  so  I  will 

To  seek  a  more  ennobling  zone, 
And  walk  with  men  inspiring  still, 

The  greatest  souls  the  world  hath  known, 
From  all  the  list  of  truly  great 

'Tis  mine  to  choose  my  company ; 
To  join  them  in  their  gloried  state, 

Or  share  their  grim  Gethsemane. 

When  falls  the  gentle  summer  rain, 

And  caution  bids  us  stay  within, 
I  vex  me  not  with  murmurs  vain 

That  I  the  hillsides  may  not  win ; 
But  here  within  these  quiet  nooks, 

Content  as  Omar  'neath  his  vine, 
I  roam  through  my  beloved  books, 

And  all  the  universe  is  mine. 


195 


S.O.S. 

In  the  code  of  Wireless  Telegraphy  the  letters  S.O.S.  are 
the  signal  of  Distress. 

"S.O.S. !    S.O.S. !" 

Comes  the  signal  of  distress 
Everywhere  we  list  we  hear 
Some  one  sounding  in  his  fear, 

"  S.O.S." 
If  it  happen  on  the  sea 

Instantly 

Comes  the  answer,  ringing  clear, 
"  Hold  your  spirits  full  of  cheer  ! 
We  are  hastening  o'er  the  wave, 

And  will  save ! 
Hidden  in  the  misty  haze 
Of  dread  ocean's  stormy  ways 
We  will  find  you  and  extend 
Helping  hand  unto  the  end ; 
Hand  to  lift  you  safely  o'er 
Raging  waters  to  the  shore. 
Keep  your  courage  undismayed  ! 
Let  your  hearts  rest  unafraid  — 
We  have  heard  your  cry  of  fear 
Ringing  through  the  atmosphere, 
And  with  loving  eagerness 
O'er  the  waters  on  we  press, 
Answering  your  S.O.S.  I" 
196 


s.o.s. 

If  it  happen  on  the  land 
Where  is  then  the  helping  hand  ? 
From  the  homes  of  penury, 
From  the  vales  of  misery, 
From  the  lair  of  sodden  grief 
Comes  the  pleading  for  relief, 

"S.O.S. !    S.O.S. ! 
Help  us  in  our  helplessness  — 

S.O.S. !" 

Sounding  daily  in  our  ears 
From  the  haunts  of  human  tears, 
Echoing  on  every  side 
From  the  ever-rising  tide 
Comes  the  call  for  tenderness  — 

"S.O.S.  I" 

Grinding  chance,  and  human  ills ; 
Shattered  hope  that  numbs  and  kills ; 
Human  derelicts  are  there, 
Sinking,  sinking,  in  despair, 

To  the  grave ; 
In  their  awful  loneliness, 
Crying,  sobbing,  "S.O.S.  ! 
Come  in  charity  to  save  ! 

From  the  spring 
Of  thy  blessings  haste  to  bring 
Comfort  to  the  comfortless  — 

S.O.S.  !    S.O.S. !" 
Women,  children,  in  the  crush, 
Trampled  in  the  maddened  rush, 
197 


s.o.s. 

For  some  bare  necessity 
Cry  aloud  incessantly, 
In  their  groaning  wretchednesSj 
"S.O.S.  I" 


Here's  a  human  soul  beset 
In  the  purlieus  of  regret  — 
Tangled  up,  enmeshed  within 

Webs  of  Sin  — 
Hear  his  signal  of  distress  ! 
Hear  his  wailing  S.O.S. ! 

"Hasten  ye! 

Save  me  from  this  beggary  — 
Beggary  of  soul  and  heart ! 
I,  alas,  have  lost  my  chart, 
And  am  drifting  o'er  the  sea 
To  the  ports  of  slavery 

Ransomless  — 

S.O.S.  I    S.O.S. ! 
Round  my  soul  the  waters  rise 
Shutting  out  the  blue  of  skies ; 
Shutting  out  the  Father's  face 
In  the  fathomless  disgrace  — 
Will  ye  leave  me  in  my  stress 

Fatherless  ? 

Leave  me  not  unto  this  fate  ! 
Come  before  it  is  too  late  — 
Ere  a  human  soul  shall  sink, 
Slipping,  slipping,  o'er  the  brink, 
198 


S.O.S. 

In  the  snare 
Of  despair, 

Lost  for  aye  to  righteousness  — 
S.O.S. !    S.O.S. 1" 

O  the  signals  !    O  the  calls  ! 
Flashing  o'er  these  city  walls 
From  the  realms  of  ugliness 
That  upon  us  ever  press 
With  their  pleading  S.O.S.  ! 
Cries  of  children  in  despond  — 

Motherless ! 
To  the  helping  hands  beyond  — 

"S.O.S.  !" 

Pleading  ever  for  release  ! 
Pleading  for  one  taste  of  peace  ! 
Little  ones  that  blindly  grope 
In  a  hopeless  quest  for  hope  ! 
Pleading  for  a  sure  relief 
From  the  waves  of  sin  and  grief  ! 
Human  vessels,  one  and  all, 
Sending  out  their  piteous  call  — 
Shall  they  find  us  pitiless, 
When  they  sound  their  S.O.S.  ? 

Do  we  heed  them  ?    Do  we  list 
To  those  voices  in  the  mist 

On  the  land  ? 

Have  we  lent  the  helping  hand 
To  our  Brothers  in  despair 

Everywhere  ? 
199 


S.O.S. 

Do  we  send  them  words  of  cheer, 
Bidding  them  forget  their  fear, 
With  a  message  sounding  clear  — 
"Hold  your  courage  undismayed  ! 
Keep  your  spirits  unafraid  ! 
We  are  hastening  o'er  the  wave, 

And  will  save  ! 

We  will  come  in  Brotherhood, 
And  our  boats  are  staunch,  and  good, 
Laden  deep  with  Love  and  Hope 
For  the  weary  souls  that  grope 

In  the  sea 

Of  despair  and  misery  — 
Laden  deep  with  tenderness, 
Bringing  comfort  in  your  stress, 
Answering  your  S.O.S.  !" 


200 


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RABINDRANATH  TAGORE 

Nobel  Prizeman  in  Literature,  1913 

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volume  of  essays  $1-25  net 

All  four  by  Rabindranath  Tagore,  translated  by  the  author 
from  the  original  Bengali. 

Rabindranath  Tagore  is  the  Hindu  poet  and  preacher  to 
whom  the  Nobel  Prize  was  recently  awarded.  .  .  . 

I  would  commend  these  volumes,  and  especially  the  one 
entitled  "  Sadhana,"  the  collection  of  essays,  to  all  intelligent 
readers.  I  know  of  nothing,  except  it  be  Maeterlinck,  in  the 
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intellectual  honesty  and  scientific  clearness  of  Tagore.  .  .  . 

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universal  as  the  sunshine.  He  writes,  of  course,  from  the  stand 
point  of  the  Hindu.  But,  strange  to  say,  his  spirit  and  teaching 
come  nearer  to  Jesus,  as  we  find  Him  in  the  Gospels,  than  any 
modern  Christian  writer  I  know. 

He  does  for  the  average  reader  what  Bergson  and  Eucken 
are  doing  for  scholars ;  he  rescues  the  soul  and  its  faculties  from 
their  enslavement  to  logic-chopping.  He  shows  us  the  way 
back  to  Nature  and  her  spiritual  voices. 

He  rebukes  our  materialistic,  wealth-mad,  Western  life  with 
the  dignity  and  authority  of  one  of  the  old  Hebrew  prophets.  .  .  . 

He  opens  up  the  meaning  of  life.  He  makes  us  feel  the 
redeeming  fact  that  life  is  tremendous,  a  worth-while  adventure. 
"  Everything  has  sprung  from  immortal  life  and  is  vibrating 
with  life.  LIFE  IS  IMMENSE."  .  .  . 

Tagore  is  a  great  human  being.  His  heart  is  warm  with  love. 
His  thoughts  are  pure  and  high  as  the  galaxy. 

(Copyright,  1913,  by  Frank  Crane.)  Reprinted  by  permission 
from  the  New  York  Globe,  Dec.  18,  1913. 


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